


Catch

by TheCowsAteMyHomework



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCowsAteMyHomework/pseuds/TheCowsAteMyHomework
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Depending on your conversation choices, the inquisitor can ask Cullen what he would have done if he'd met her in the Circle. Well what if he did?<br/>Edit: I added a chapter I'd entirely forgotten (11), and gave it a proper ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing recognizable from the game, and thank Bioware for creating such a lovely and rich universe to play with.  
> I was originally going to make this cover the whole game, but have decided to leave it as is. I may come back to it at a later date, but I want to allow for the possibility that I won't or that I'll take forever and a day to do so.

            She turned, slowly dragging her right arm out from under her and rolled onto her back, reaching up to wipe sweaty hair off of her face. While her left hand made it to its destination, her right rose a few inches and flopped back down to her side. Eve sighed. Sleeping so many days in a wagon was uncomfortable, and she tired of waking each day with a body mistreated by hard wood covered by an inadequately thin bedroll. And it was hot. She’d sworn yesterday a drop of water she’d accidentally splashed from her drinking skin had actually _sizzled_ as it hit the baked ground. She considered trying to sleep again, but hard wooden wagon bottoms were not conducive to rest. She pushed aside her regular morning fantasy of burning the cart to a pile of ash and rose quietly, careful not to wake Miri, who shared her personal little purgatory. After massaging her sleeping arm back to life, she set about kneading the various aches and pains of the night from the rest of her body.

            While the first part of the journey from Ferelden had included wagon travel, they had had the sweet mercy of cool air, and there were enough horses that she was sometimes allowed to ride. The nights had even been chill on occasion, and she guiltily remembered her complaints for wanting an extra blanket. The sail from Ferelden to the Free Marches had not been much worse. After all, the hard bottom of a wagon is the same as the hard floor of a ship’s hold. But it had bored her. The only scenery was water. She had looked forward to traveling on land again, but the scrubby semi-arid landscape combined with the miserable heat had only worsened everyone’s moods in the last few days.

            “Mmm, thank Andraste’s sweet beautiful ass we’ve only one more day until real beds and a bath.” It appeared her care to not wake Miri was unnecessary.

            Eve grunted in agreement as they both pulled on clothes and boots before wandering off to find a decent sized shrub.

            They hadn’t been the first to wake. Someone was cooking, and the tantalizing scent of bacon and fry bread improved her mood. The camp was humming with preparations for starting their daily trek. She noticed some poor sods were actually still donning their armor each morning. It was a testament to the discipline of templars that they could stand wearing the stuff in this heat, although most tied their helmets to a saddle. Some had taken to using white sheets as cloaks to keep the sun off. She passed Sam, his forehead already glistening slightly as he sat fastening his breastplate. She grinned at him and fanned herself dramatically with her hat. She caught and tossed back the helmet that came amiably sailing towards her head and walked off, grinning over her shoulder and sticking her tongue out at him. She had it relatively easy she supposed. Most of those not required to wear armor had taken to loose tunics and trousers instead of the heavier robes they’d worn back in Ferelden.

            She was gratified to see that her apprentice was awake and that he came towards her bearing two platefuls of breakfast. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. She knew exactly what he was buttering her up for as he handed her the second plate. She sat, not quite feigning the tiredness on her face as she ate her breakfast with her eyes closed, pretending not to notice his eagerness to ask her if there would be a lesson. He knew better than to push, and the silence continued. It was terribly amusing to see him trying so hard to behave. She could sense him fidgeting, then trying not to fidget, and then fidgeting again. After a few cycles of such, she finally had mercy. She peaked sideways under an eyelid, “You realize I’m giving up my turn to ride today.”

            He grinned, knowing he’d won. He had the good grace to muster some guilt in his expression at her giving up her chance to escape the wagon. Magic, especially with all the mistakes apprentices could make with it, made the horses nervous. She secretly hoped he’d burn down the wagon anyways.

            He walked backwards slowly with their empty plates, hesitant about his next question, “Tommy asked if he could join….?”

            Her lips thinned a fraction. “Roland.”

            He danced off, waving his hands. “Yes, yes, but I promised to ask.”

            Individual lessons had become less tricky as Roland had gotten older. When apprentices were young, they were taught in groups, but as they grew older, it was expected that they would need more personal lessons tailored to their abilities and specialties. The difficult part was making sure no one was quite close enough to hear their spells, or rather note the complete silence and stillness with which he cast them. So after everyone was settled into a wagon or on a horse, and no one was riding too near, they began.


	2. Chapter 2

            The air in camp that night was not the exhausted crankiness that had been the norm since they’d reached the Free Marches. The thought of civilization and all the comforts it entailed had bolstered the mood. The conversation was livelier with less bickering, and Janelle even brought out her harp. The apprentices had a snowball fight, under the guise of practicing the skills they’d learned that day of course. Eve was strict about using magic for purposes other than lessons or necessity, but tonight neither she nor Miri had the heart to stop them. They giggled and shook their heads, and she went back to oiling the two short swords she carried. Eventually after the food was packed away and Janelle’s fingers had tired, Captain Willem ordered them all off to bed. There was some good-natured grumbling, but they were eager for an early start, so everyone did as told, happy to be that much closer to the end of their journey.

 

o.O.o

 

            Eve smiled as a collective whoop began as the walls of the city came into view. Dusk was starting to fall, and the prospect of a proper meal and bath were heartening after a day of travel made even longer by anticipation. The Captain sent Sam to ride ahead and inform their hosts of their impending arrival. Not for the first time, Eve wondered what would happen once they reached Kirkwall. The small group of mages and templars she traveled with had been sent to aid the Circle of Kirkwall in rebuilding after the uprising. The letter from the acting Knight Commander had not been detailed about what transpired, but they had all heard the rumors of a crazed Knight Commander and rampant use of blood magic.

            Not least among her concerns was how she and her fellow mages would be received. Even before the king had granted the Ferelden Circle autonomy, there had been a stark contrast between the two Circles. The differences were even greater now that the Ferelden Circle was no longer run by templars. It had come as a surprise when the king had granted the warden’s request to give the Circle’s rule over to mages. The Chantry had been outraged, and not all templars had taken the news of being forced to concede power to the First enchanter well. A few had left, but many remained, determined to carry on the duty of guarding, and guarding against, the Circle as best they could. The memory of Uldred’s treachery and the disaster it had brought was still fresh. However, it was not only the templars who had felt the bite of that tragedy; fewer than half of the mages in the tower had survived the incident. Whether as a result of that catastrophe, or realization of a need for the Circle to prove itself, the First Enchanter had been as vigilant and ruthless as any templar in ensuring that blood magic remained purged from their ranks. This, more than the king’s decree, had allowed for a tentative trust and cooperation to grow between the mages and their templar keepers.

            The last few hours of their trip took them closer to the sea, easing the heat with lazy breezes wafting from the coast. _It was even pleasant at night_ , she thought, looking towards the city lights. Another languid gust made her reconsider. It carried a faint smell of rot. She hoped it would not increase as they drew closer to Kirkwall. There was a small hiccupped lurch as the wagon stopped. She looked away from the city and to the front of the line where Captain Willem was holding up his hand to signal a halt. She sighed, hoping one of the wagons hadn’t gotten stuck in the sand. The breeze might be nice, but the soft sand along their route could make wagon travel difficult. She stood up to climb out and investigate, only to be pushed back into the wagon by a gauntleted hand on her shoulder. Her eyes sprang up to see Joran. He’d drawn his sword and was looking intently towards the coast. _Bandits?_ Tensely, she observed how few of them there were and prayed they would be enough to fend off whatever was out there. He let go of her shoulder, jerking his head towards the front of the line, and she moved quickly towards the wagon carrying the apprentices, half pulling her swords from their scabbards as she went. She froze. The gaze of each templar was focused on the coast to the east. It was too dark to make out anything, yet the intensity of their gazes told her they saw what the rest of them could not. That meant magic, actively used. The templars were forming a small crescent between the shore and the caravan. She quickened her pace towards the apprentices. They stayed in the cart, but scooted nervously towards the edges where Miri and Eve had taken up guard. Roland had found a staff, tightening and loosening his grip as he strained to see what the templars sensed. _Maker bless that boy._

            “Put that down,” she ordered, “and get on the floor.” When he hesitated, she gave him that disturbing look that mothers give children to cow them into submission, and he grudgingly set down the staff to crouch on the floorboards with the others. After she settled the four children down into the wagon bed, she began casting wards of invisibility and concealment. She’d only managed to get halfway through the second when the attack came.

            For a quick moment, she felt an acidic prick on the roof of her mouth. _Demons._ She turned, sending a searing cold wave down each sword as she drew it. An instant later there was a shout and the jarring clang of weapons coming together. A bright flare lit the immediate area as a scorching mass of flame flew past her towards their attackers. The fire found a mark, burning two would-be attackers into smoldering, melted heaps of flesh and leather. The smell was revolting, but the horror of what the brief light had revealed spurred her to action. There were demons, but something else she didn’t recognize, inhuman and half-rotted scaly monstrosities. Their mouths, with too many teeth and jaws unhinging unnaturally wide, howled with a sound that was at once a shrill, grating screech and a guttural roar. Hulking thick-clawed hands swung axes and swords with terrible strength. A scream came from somewhere, and she swung her blade at one of the creatures that had managed to break through the line of templars. It was abnormally large, easily one and a half times the size of a man, with a massive beast of an axe that it brought up to block her swing. She whipped her other sword from behind her, sending a lash of frigid fire from the point. The lash wound up and under the great axe, slicing through armor unable to withstand such severe heated cold. It continued to cut deep into the side of the creature’s abdomen, spilling innards out of the broken armor. She gagged, but there was no time for revulsion, and she recovered to face another, hurling thick veins of lightning from her fingers, decapitating it with a swift sweep as it fell forward, convulsing from the shocks. This time when she heard screams they came from a woman and from too near. Her gut lurched as she spun towards the sound. _Miri!_

            She spared a quick glance around the wagon holding the apprentices and sprinted the thirty feet to her friend. Three of the horrors had converged on Miri, each swinging some monstrously massive weapon. With a desperate swing and an extra push of energy through her blades, Eve whipped both swords towards them, sending the lashes as far as they could reach. She was too slow. Two of the creatures stumbled, buckling as their spines severed, but the third only felt the bite on the back of its legs, and its momentum was already carrying it forward, falling on Miri. Before she could move, a greatsword was buried between her neck and shoulder, sliding down through her chest. Still running, Eve barreled into the creature, impaling it from behind. She wrenched her sword to the side, hauling the creature off of her friend, but it had not been enough. Blood pooled around Eve’s knees as she knelt over her friend. Miri had been dead in seconds. She sat in shock, unable to look away from the gaping crevice in the dead woman’s chest. A thought of a healing spell and the immediate mental rejection flitted through her mind. More cries shook her from the helpless reverie.

            Pulling away from the corpse of her friend, she rushed back to the apprentices. Jack and Tip were climbing over the side, making a desperate, panicked run for the scrub. She screamed at them to stop, to go back to the safety of the warded wagon. Either they did not hear her, or their panic was too great, because they didn’t stop. Their frantic scrambling had attracted the attention of some of the monsters, and she watched, horrified, as Jack flew face-first into the ground, an axe buried in his back, Tip following soon after. She launched herself into the wagon, throwing a barrier over it, as much to keep the children in, as the monsters away. But as she looked around her, she found it empty. She leapt out of the wagon, hurling spells, frantically looking around for Roland and Sara. This barrier wouldn’t hold for long; shields were particularly draining to maintain. As she was yelled for them again, something grabbed her ankle. She nearly brought her sword down on it before realizing it was Roland’s hand. Sara was nowhere to be seen. She motioned for him to stay down, then crouched low, surveying the road. Her well of energy was running dangerously low from maintaining the barrier, and she dared not cast any more spells. She saw Captain Willem and one other still fighting. They wouldn’t last she realized helplessly. There were too many, and more were pouring onto the road. She _had_ to help them, but leaving Roland exposed to do so was as good as killing him. She managed to throw a few more lances of ice at some of the creatures closest to the knights, but she was drained. She had run out of energy, to exhausted even to hold the barrier. Sure enough, the knights were overwhelmed. She bent down, pulling Roland close and covered his ears to shield him from the screams of the men and horses as they were hacked apart.

            She let him go, peeking over the top of the cart. She was terrified to see there was no one else left, and it would be moments before they were discovered. A storm of dread roiled in her gut, like the sea in a hurricane. She looked around, madly trying to find an escape. It took all her willpower to stamp down on the rising panic. She would never be able to outrun them, and Roland certainly wouldn’t. He tugged at her, but she ignored him, desperately trying to find a way out. She still had her swords. There were far too many for just her, but perhaps she could buy Roland the time to run. It probably wouldn’t work. She felt another tug and looked down to push him away. “Please,” he begged, “you have to.” _No._ Hysterical tears were spilling over his face, and all he said was “Please” over and over again. _No._ But she didn’t know how else. She couldn’t even shield them from it. Then she shook him, somewhere in the back of her mind wincing at being too rough on a scared boy. She forced him to look at her. “Can you make a shield?” He focused slowly, too slowly, on her words. _Come on._ “Make a shield.” He looked at her again, the panic on his face ebbing just enough to show her he’d heard. He started whispering. “Ten seconds, just hold for ten seconds.” He nodded, still whispering. As a barrier took shape, she edged away, peaking around the edge of the wagon. She took a breath, slow and trembling, preparing herself for her own desperate stupidity, and dashed from behind the cover of the wagon. She ran straight for the middle of the horde and _reached_.


	3. Chapter 3

            Knight Captain Cullen shifted uneasily in his saddle. They still hadn’t come upon the Fereldans. The messenger, _What was the boy’s name? Sam? Seamus?_ had arrived, but the rest of the Fereldans had not yet reached Kirkwall, and it had been nearly full dark. Roving bands of rebel mages meant the wilderness and roads were less than safe, so he’d gathered ten men and the messenger and rode out in search of the missing Fereldans.

            A few miles down the road, he caught a whiff of something burnt. Cullen sped up their pace, forced to increase it to a gallop as the messenger caught the same scent and barreled ahead. It would not do to have the man face trouble alone, and they chased after the fading torch bobbing quickly down the road. The sight that met them was gruesome. All that was left of the caravan was a burned out crater. _Maker, how…?_ Sam had already leapt from his horse, searching for survivors. Cullen felt a stab of pity; he doubted anyone would be alive. He looked around and saw… pieces. Not all were human. Bodies of demons and something barely identifiable as darkspawn lay there as well. Closing his eyes for a moment of respite from the scene before him, he cursed himself. With his forces so depleted after the uprising, he’d had few men to spare for chasing down the escaped mages, focusing instead on maintaining order within the city. Now he’d failed to protect the very people coming to his aid. He opened his eyes, mentally steeling himself to face the result of yet another of his failures before him. He pulled his sword, calling for his men to do the same. He saw no one but those who had come with him, but damned if he would meet anything else unprepared.

            “Captain!” One of his men was standing near the center of the crater, motioning him over.

            He made his way over, careful to avoid corpses. Jared was kneeling to feel the pulse of a small figure sprawled on the ground in front of them. “Maker, she’s alive,” he breathed. He gingerly rolled her over, and Cullen crouched down beside him. The left side of her face and body were a scraped, bloody mess, dirt and pebbles smashed into the wounds. Her right sleeve was gone, revealing oozing, blistered skin. A sword she still clutched weakly under her had sliced across her ribs, but it was shallow.

            “Bring your horse.” Cullen said, “Take her back to Bethany, quickly.” As Jared obeyed, Cullen removed his cloak. With care for her lacerated left side, he gently propped her up wrapped it around her. Despite his efforts, it was enough to wake her, for she stirred, struggling weakly against the cloth that confined her. “Shh, stop. You’re being taken to a healer.” He tried to restrain her, fearful she would make her injuries worse. Whether because of his words or the pain of struggling, she stilled. Slowly she opened her eyes, eventually gaining a hazy focus on his face. “Do you know where you are?” he asked.

            A moment passed. “Yes.” Her voice was hoarse and gravelly, as if she’d breathed in too much smoke. She looked down at the cloak he’d put around her. “Please…. Take it off… hurts.”

            He obliged, and she winced, her eyes half-closing upon seeing the damage to her body. She looked up at him again, her eyes slowly gaining lucidity. “Need to stand,” she coughed, and after considering her hands, extended the left one.

            “It would be better if you remained sitting.”

            She examined the rest of herself. With a grimace, she pulled her right leg to her and began pushing herself up with the sword she still held in her left hand. She was most likely in shock, he thought. By this time Jared had arrived with his horse. Cullen stepped in front of her and spoke gently, slowly, “This is Jared. He’s going to bring you to a healer.” She looked from him, to the horse, to Jared, and then back to him. “Can you make it into the saddle?”

            She ignored him. “Roland… A boy. Did you find him?”

            “No. Not yet,” he began, but she had turned and was limping her way resolutely toward a heap of burned wood. Her face was pained by more than just her wounds, he thought. Jared raised his eyebrows at his captain. _You’re going to let her just walk off in that state?_ Cullen motioned for him to follow, and strode off after the girl. She stopped at a charred pile of wood that could have once been a cart. She circled until reaching the far side of it, and they were all surprised to see a boy run from the bushes nearby and throw his arms around the girl. She gasped, her eyes bulging in pain as he hugged her too tightly. She gently pushed him back. His already tear-streaked face went still, shocked at seeing her burned and covered in blood. The boy…Roland?… was in better condition than she was. They exchanged a few quiet words, the boy nodding periodically, and she led him slowly to the two templars.

            “Take him first,” she said, and stepping up to Jared said quietly, “and see that a healer gives him something to make him sleep… no dreams.”

            Jared once again looked to Cullen. The captain nodded, and Jared hoisted the boy into the saddle with him. Once they were out of earshot, the girl faced Cullen. “There was no one else?” The despair in her voice made it more of a statement than a question.

            “No. I am sorry.”

            Her jaw clenched, and her knuckles went white as her grip on the sword tightened, but her eyes stayed on his. She was making a valiant effort at self-control, and his heart ached with pity for her. He had once had his world and nearly his sanity ripped from him by such demons and horrors. She was no templar, probably just a hired guard, judging by the sword she was using to prop herself up. The experience must have been all the more traumatizing since she was unused to such things.

            “You need a healer.” He prodded gently. She nodded numbly. She grit her teeth in pain as he helped her onto a horse. She insisted on bringing the sword, and so he tucked it through a strap on the saddle. Swinging up behind her, he put his arm across her stomach, the least damaged part of her body. She swayed, slipping when they started to move, and he pulled her back against him. Her throat worked as she took a last look at the blackened ruin around her. They turned towards Kirkwall, and somewhere along the road she mercifully slipped into unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

            When they returned, he brought her to Bethany. She was the most experienced healer in what remained of their Circle. He stood, watching as she glanced over the unconscious girl and began pulling various items from cabinets. While magical healing could reduce scarring more than natural healing, she would bear scars from the ordeal. He left when the mage brought out scissors and, with a pointed look at him, began to cut her way up one ankle of the girl’s trousers.

            Sam had insisted the boy be given a cot in his room for the night. Cullen was not sure if he thought the younger templar’s protective attitude towards an apprentice was admirable or weak. He had heard of the Fereldan Circle’s “liberation”. In his earlier days in Kirkwall the news had appalled him, but now ironically, it was most like one of the more stable Circles left.

            The walk back to his room was quiet. Barely a fifth of the Circle compound was still occupied. After the Circle’s uprising, only a few dozen templars remained in Kirkwall, and even fewer mages. He paused at a window, looking at the space in the skyline the Chantry had filled. He clenched his jaw slightly, feeling a familiar mix of rage and shame. The Order had failed - _he had failed_ \- and magic had wrought disaster upon the city. Hundreds had died in the explosion that destroyed the Chantry and most of Hightown, and more died as the battle between the templars and mages churned a destructive swath through the rest of Kirkwall. He put his hands against the sill, forcing himself to remain and remember. He could not, _would not_ , forget the lesson of that day. He had allowed himself to be consumed by fear and resentment, and that had blinded him to a disaster he could have prevented. He swore to himself for the hundredth time that he would never fail so completely again.

           He had struck down dozens of mages. So many had fought him, but not all had turned to blood magic. There had been a time, in the years after the torment he’d faced at Kinloch, when that distinction would have been lost on him, but that day it was inescapable. When a group of mages had surrendered, it was a relief to have them brought back to the gallows.

            As they stood over the burned corpse of his former commander, he had raised his sword in guard against the Champion, a mage herself, not in attack but uncertainty. He could never treat a mage as predictable. _“When,” she said, stepping forward, the menacing chill in her voice dripping with disdain, “have I_ ever _used blood magic.”_ It had not been a question. In that moment he felt the adrenaline drain, his arms falling to his sides. And with that she’d left, departing the city for who knew where. In the end, to his horror, the Knight Commander had been just as corrupt as the blood mages they’d fought. It had been her poison that had brought them all so low, and he had followed her where he should not have. And in the end he knew it.

            He closed his eyes, willing away the wave of shame he felt at the memory. After the Champion had walked away, he and his remaining men had combed the city, gathering the mages that were left. Those who had any mark on them from blood magic were executed, but those few, _and they had been so few_ , who had resisted the temptation were brought back to the Gallows. _They could be saved, protected._ The Fereldan Circle had been saved, and he _would_ save this one too. And he would save the Order from what it had become. It was too early for trust on either side, but at least there was an acknowledgement that no one would kill each other in the middle of the night. Or perhaps it was just that both sides were too weary of violence.

            And now this. The demons and darkspawn were no more than piles of burned flesh, but he was hardly foolish enough to think there would not be more.

 

o.O.o

 

            He woke early and still tired. Since Meredith’s death, the responsibilities of running the Circle fell to him now, and more besides. After the rebellion, many in the city looked to the templars to restore order and rebuild. Some felt the Order had saved them; others that it had failed them. Perhaps it had done both. A loose coalition of nobles was attempting to form a government, but mostly they squabbled over power and caused headaches for the city guard. This new incident with demons and darkspawn was not something they could afford to have get out. It had to be investigated, and quickly, before it caused widespread panic. He dressed, ate, and headed to find the survivors of last night’s attack.

            They were in one of the inner courtyards at breakfast, the Fereldan templar standing guard near them, a closed stony expression on his face. The boy was quiet, eyes focused on his plate, slowly working his way through the last bits of some toast and ham. Every so often he chanced a look at the woman beside him, as if wishing to speak and not finding the words. She seemed much improved physically, but her face was drawn, and her motions mechanical. She wore a simple fitted linen dress with sleeves rolled above her elbows. Her left arm looked almost completely healed, only a few thin scars marring the outside surface. She had a light bandage wrapping her right hand where she’d been burned. The dress hid the rest. Her dark hair was pulled back in a thick braid that wound from the top of her head and down the side of her face. A pretty face, he thought, once all the blood and dirt had been cleared from it. The once lacerated skin on her left cheek still had shallow pink scratches near her temple and ear, but it would heal well, leaving few, if any, discernible marks. The young woman should count herself lucky that Bethany had been the one to look after her, he thought admiringly. She looked up at him as he approached, but did not make to stand. Her eyes were not red, but the lids were slightly swollen.

            “Good morning, Knight Commander.”

            “Good morning.” He tried for a soft smile that he hoped was reassuring. “And it’s just Captain. I haven’t been officially instated as Commander.”

            “What can I do for you, Captain?”

            “I am sorry for what happened to you.” After the barest inward thinning of her lips, an expression of blank politeness settled over her face, “But there will be more of them.” The boy’s head snapped up at that, and the woman put a gentle, bracing hand across the back of his shoulders. Cullen did his best to temper the firmness of his next request with sympathy, “We could use whatever you’re able to tell us.”

            Her expression held, “Of course.”

            “I’ve some things to see to in the city, but I’ll be back in the afternoon.” She nodded.

            Now he turned to the boy and knelt down. He’d found that younger apprentices were more cooperative and less frightened of large, armored templars when their eyes were at the same level, “Now, Roland, I believe it was? We will need to get you settled into the dormitory with the other apprentices.” He would need to find the boy a new teacher soon, he thought. Traumatized young mages who lacked the firm guidance of a strong teacher could be especially prone to lapses in judgment. Fear and a desperate need for comfort were emotional vulnerabilities demons were eager to exploit.

            At the boy’s movement to rise, the young woman’s hand shifted to the top of the boy’s shoulder, holding him in his seat. “Bethany has already shown us our rooms, and there is more than enough room in mine for both of us. For now.” Her tone was not insolent, sounded wearily indifferent even, but she clearly had no intention of letting the boy go.

            He bit down the spark of irritation that flared. She was a sellsword and had no right to interfere in Circle affairs. He could understand her wish to protect a child who had just experienced such trauma, even a mage child… a ghost of a thought prodded him. He let his senses roam. _Ah._ He felt it, barely. She was weak, still practically drained. She would have been completely drained last night else he’d have realized that she too, was a mage. That and the sword had fooled him, and he inwardly cursed his careless assumption. After a quick breath, “Your pardon, I’ve not had your name.”

            “Eve…Trevelyan,” then with a hint of question, “Master Irving had sent a letter…?”

            He held back a sigh. It was too much to hope that of the few mages Irving had sent that Kirkwall’s intended new First Enchanter would have survived. This girl didn’t even look a shade over twenty-five. As with everything in this city, he would have to make do. He realized he had remained silent too long at her partial question, and managed an, “Ah, yes,” before excusing himself with a promise to find her when he returned from the city.


	5. Chapter 5

            The Ferelden Circle had not been his first choice when he wrote to the other Circles asking for a new First Enchanter and mages for Kirkwall, but no mage was eager to come to their city after hearing of the incident with Meredith. The templars likewise were reluctant to travel in the open with mages, fearing that the spreading unrest would make their charges bold and prone to escape attempts. As it was, the Fereldans had only agreed upon the condition that they would have the freedom to return to Ferelden unhindered if they found Kirwall distasteful. On that condition Irving had promised him a few skilled senior enchanters and their apprentices.

            And now his options for running the Kirkwall Circle were a few mages who held no love or trust for him and a too-young mage distracted by grief. He had considered asking Bethany to take up the duties of First Enchanter, at least temporarily. Though also young, she had an even-keeled and gentle temper, was generally well-liked by her fellow mages, and his men considered her one of the least suspicious of their charges. However, she remained steadfastly in the infirmary, and had insisted on using it as a clinic for the poor of Kirkwall, who still needed care even after most of the damage of the Chantry explosion had been cleaned up. Almost all of her time revolved around it, either directly as a healer, or indirectly, managing the tranquil and their crafts to fund the clinic. The only teaching she did revolved around training the handful of apprentices in healing.

            He leaned his elbows on the desk, massaging the bridge of his nose between his thumbs. The Fereldan it would be then, and he prayed she would prove at least halfway competent while he wrote to the further Circles. Orlais would not be pleased. Orlais was already not pleased. He wondered when Orlais would have him replaced. He leaned back and called in his assistant to have her summoned.

            A few minutes later there was a knock as the mage entered his office. “Captain?” She was no longer in her dress from earlier. Now she wore breeches and a shirt, and in her left hand she carried the sword she’d held when they’d found her in the wreckage of the caravan. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was messy and damp with sweat. His eyes narrowed a fraction when he saw that the Fereldan templar stood in the hall behind her in a similar state. The young man would have to be put in the duty rotations; he was not her personal guard.

            He stood, “Come in, Enchanter.” After walking around his desk to close the door and giving the younger templar a small frown, he indicated a seat in front of his desk. “Please, sit.”

            She leaned her sword against the front of the desk and sat straight-backed and silent, her hands folded loosely in her lap. She met his eyes, her expression empty, and waited for him to speak.

            “As I’m sure you knew, one of your companions from Ferelden was meant to take the position of First Enchanter here. Unfortunately, her death leaves the post still unfilled.” He paused, but when she did not speak he continued, “However, Irving assured me of the skill and competency of each mage he sent. As such, this leaves you as the next qualified candidate.”

            “What does that mean here?”

            “Pardon?”

            “Am I to be your lap dog who keeps everyone in line, or am I meant to be useful?” Her eyes still had not yet moved from his. The question smacked of insolence, but her tone was sincere.

            “Define useful.”

            “Teaching, guiding… running the Circle.”

            “It’s my hope that you will be useful,” he paused again and continued pointedly, “while adhering to the principles set forth by the Chantry governing magic.”

            “In case you’ve forgotten about our recent brush with demons, not to mention the fact that I come from the _Fereldan_ Circle, I’ve no patience or mercy for those who _misuse_ magic.”

            “I’m sure Irving told you what happened here, particularly regarding our former first enchanter. I hope knowing that, you can forgive my caution.”

            For the first time in their conversation, she looked away from him. Her voice was quiet as she said, “Forgive my rudeness. It is unworthy of me. He told me you used to be stationed at Kinloch. I only came after the fall of the tower.” If she’d not been looking out his window, she would have seen him flinch. Her brows furrowed, grief sliding over her features, “You know what magic can do.” She met his gaze again. “So do I.”

            He had no response to that. Few in Kirkwall had known the details of what happened to him when Uldred had attacked Kinloch Hold, and he didn’t know how much Irving had told her. He almost told her that it was not the same, that as a mage, she was still susceptible to the evils that had taken her friends from her, that as a non-mage he was immune. But he couldn’t, not after Meredith, not after Wilmod. He nodded, and stood. She stood with him.

            “I will do my best here, Captain.”

            “It’s all I ask,” he said, and moved to open the door.

            She hesitated. “Captain… Has anyone gone back? For their bodies?” She swallowed, and her gaze dropped for a second time.

            “Yes, they were brought back last night after you and the boy.”

            “If I can…” She swallowed again, and he looked over her shoulder while she worked to collect herself. To his relief, it took only a moment, “I would like to see them before they go to the pyre.”

            “Yes.”

            “Thank you, Knight Captain.”

o.O.o

 

            Roland had spent his day trailing after Eve. She’d insisted, and although he’d put up some feeble protests, he’d been glad of it. For one, he wasn’t sure how he felt about these new templars. She’d taken him aside the night before they’d left Fereldan and warned him that the Kirkwall templars were not the same as theirs, that they were old-fashioned and stodgy without the sense of humor Willem and Sam had. But when she forbade _all_ pranks and jokes, he thought perhaps there were more differences than stodgy and lacking a sense of humor. And it downright unnerved him when she wouldn’t let the Knight Captain take him. The last templar who she kept him away from had left Kinloch suddenly, and she’d refused to say anything other than that it was best that he was gone.

            Eve hadn’t spoken much since last night. He was all right with that. He didn’t want to think about it. She’d let him spend the day with Bethany who’d wasted no time in putting him to work in the clinic. She wasn’t always with him, but somehow she always managed to appear the moment he wasn’t busy to put him to work at another task. He suspected it was a talent taught to all Senior Enchanters. First he’d washed and boiled bandages, and then Enchanter Jonah tested him on his knowledge of potions. It was a small consolation when the man declared his work passable and put a fair few of the bottles on the shelves with the rest of the stock.

            In the late afternoon, Eve came in. She was dirty and sweaty, and she would have chastised him for being in such a state, but he forgave her for being a hypocrite when she ruffled his hair and gave him a small smile when Jonah praised his work. It had almost made her look not sad. Then the sadness came back, and she left to talk to Bethany. Well, she never really looked sad, just looked like… nothing. He wondered if the Kirkwallers knew the difference. Sam did. She had her sword… _what happened to the other one?_ … so they’d spent the morning fighting. She called it sparring, but… well they were scary, especially since they didn’t always use practice swords. She said it taught control. Then they finished talking, and Bethany came back over.

            “Roland, come with me.” He did, and they followed Bethany through the Gallows to the chapel. After entering, she led them to a side door near the back, and after giving Eve’s hand a small squeeze, left them alone.

            “Roland,” Careen began and looked down at him. She no longer had very far to look these days. Now there was real sadness, not just the nothingness. It scared him to see the real sadness. He knew she was going to start talking about it. But he looked right back, determined to be strong for her. “They brought…everyone back last night. The services will be tonight. Do you want to say goodbye to them with me?”

            He wasn’t sure, but after a moment he nodded anyways, and they walked inside. Three straight rows of cots were dimly illuminated by dozens of red candles that did nothing to fend off the cold of the room. On each cot were the bodies of their friends. They couldn’t see their faces; each one was wrapped in the same uniform red and blue cloth, blue for the body and red for the head. He walked to the smaller bundles. “I don’t know which one’s Tommy.” Eve closed her eyes for a moment and whispered a short, inaudible phrase. After a moment she put an arm around his shoulders and led him to the middle of the row.

            “Here.”

            He stood for a few minutes and wondered what he was supposed to do. How did you say goodbye to someone when they couldn’t hear you? He didn’t want to talk to a wrapped bundle of cloth; he wanted to talk to his friend. “Can I talk to him?”

            “Yes. Do you want me to go?”

            “I mean how can I talk to him? They go to the Fade right? We can go-”

            Before he could finish, she was grabbing him by his arms and yanking him around to face her. She loomed over him, and her voice was no longer gentle, but hissing and snarling like a caged mabari. “Don’t.” Despite the rage, her eyes were wide with panic, and he was shocked to see them full of tears. He tried to step back, but she tightened her grip and forced him to stay where he was. “Never. Ever. Ever think that. That is how you end up here.” And she gripped his arms even tighter and wrenched him to the side to look at the blue and red bundle that had been Tommy.

            He couldn’t help it anymore and burst into tears. She looked at him for a moment, unmoving, and then her grip on his arms loosened. She was gentle again when she whispered hoarsely, “They can’t find peace if you try that. You have to let them rest.” Then she hugged her to him, squeezing tightly and pinning his arms to his sides, and it was a moment before he realized that she was finally crying too.

 

o.O.o

 

            A few hours later, after tears had been wiped away and dirty clothes had been changed for clean robes, they stood with everyone else in the Gallow’s courtyard in front of an enormous pyre. The Revered Mother says words he doesn’t pay attention to, and then it’s his turn. He looks up to Eve, standing too straight and too rigidly beside him with the nothing on her face, and then to Sam, who gives him a small nod. She was going to be the one to light the pyre, but after saying goodbye she asked him to do it. He hadn’t wanted the responsibility, to have so many people watching him, even though it was just a simple spell. But she hadn’t ordered, she’d asked. And so he agreed. With his head bowed over his hands and a whisper and a gesture he lit his spark and carried it to the pyre. He made it gold, just for Tommy, and threw in a dash of pink for Tip, who hated pink. He hoped the stories of the dead looking down on the living were true, that she saw it and laughed.

            His spark quickly swept the pyre into a towering blaze, and he returned to Eve’s side. Everyone stood with different nothings on their faces, until one by one they trickled away to bed or duty. After a while Sam touched his arm and gestured for him to follow, and he went quietly back to his rooms and readied for bed. But he didn’t want to sleep, and so when Sam left, he went to the window to watch the pyre.

            By now it was just Eve and one templar standing watch over it. The blaze had dimmed to a few small flames licking at blackened wood. The bodies of their friends were now smaller blackened lumps in the mountain of burned lumber. She hadn’t moved since the service had started, but now, as the fire became less, she walked forward and laid her fingertips against the corner of the bier. Her lips moved, and after a moment the already charred wood burned anew. Hotter and brighter than forge or sun, it slowly burned the remains of the pyre into smoke, floating above the Gallows to be swept up and out over the sea.

            As the last floats of ash were drifting away, her shoulders slumped, and she pressed a hand over her eyes. The templar behind her stepped forward, and for a moment Roland thought he would say something, but he only stood next to her, at her shoulder, not quite by her side. And at length, after the smoke has dissipated, he walked with her when she turned from the courtyard and headed to her rooms. Roland scurried back into his bed when he heard their footsteps in the hall, and steadied his breathing as the door opened.

            The templar’s voice was a somber murmer, “Maker guide you and give you peace, Enchanter.”

            Her voice was a tired whisper, “And Maker watch over you, Captain.”


	6. Chapter 6

            In the days and weeks following her arrival in Kirkwall, she threw herself into her new position as First Enchanter. There were times, especially at night when she lay abed and before sleep took over, when her memories of that night overwhelmed her and the tears came. Sometimes it was a relief, and sometimes it only worsened her grief. But wallowing was not an option. Her heartache would not go away by dwelling on it, and she would not be an effective First Enchanter, and certainly not a good teacher to Roland, if she let it consume her. So she filled her days with her new duties, of which there many.

           After getting to know and evaluate the remaining mages in her charge, she assigned each one their own responsibilities. With so few of them left, there was plenty of work to go around. She found most of her hours filled with teaching apprentices and training the older mages who had passed their harrowings. She reorganized the tranquil, redistributing more of them to the rebuilding efforts within the Gallows. Whole wings of the compound remained either fully or partially rubble, and no one from the city had so far been persuaded to repair it. Knight Captain Cullen said the priority of Kirkwall officials was rebuilding the city, but after sending out inquiries to builders, she quickly found that the Kirkwallers had no wish to be near mages. Even the templars barely interacted with them. Whatever peace had been cobbled together, mage and templar avoided all contact not strictly required by duty. There was only suspicion and wariness. Her charges seemed relieved to have her as both bulwark and liaison between themselves and the Order.

            At first, her rigorous schedule and the tight control she held herself to were exhausting, but eventually, after some weeks, it became habit, and the habit made it more bearable, and finally more comfortable. She did not permit herself idleness. Free moments were spent with any task she could find, usually in Bethany’s clinic. She’d grown to like the other woman. Bethany never asked uncomfortable questions, and she had a gift for easy, distracting conversation. She told Eve stories of her older sister, the Champion, who had since left Kirkwall, and regaled her with stories of their various adventures and motley group of friends.

            And in the evenings, she had Sam. Whether by happenstance or at Sam’s request, he did not have guard duty in the evenings, leaving him free for sword practice with her. He’d decided long ago that she would never be reliant solely on her magic, especially in a Circle surrounded by templars, and insisted she learn to fight. And so she had. On her first birthday after joining the Circle, he’d gifted her with a pair of twin swords, each with a double blade as long as her arm. At first, the Knight Commander had misgivings about a mage owning a blade, but with supervision and the fact that Sam kept her swords with him when she was not practicing, it was allowed. Advantages of coming from pious nobility. When they’d been moved to Ferelden, they inadvertently started a bit of a fad for the younger mages to learn swordplay from the templars. Gregoir had even encouraged it as a means to build trust between the mages and his men. Here in Kirkwall, they practiced when everyone else had gone, and if anyone knew, no one forbade them.

            This evening found her reviewing lists of materials for rebuilding; even if no one would build, they were happy to sell to the Circle. She sat back, sighing and sweeping the feather of her pen back and forth across her forehead. Demand had driven the prices of stone and lumber up. Even selling the goods of the tranquil did not bring as much gold as she wished. At least one advantage of their small numbers was that she could have the libraries repaired before they would need more barracks or dorm space. Hopefully the Captain would agree. Needing his approval for such things mildly chaffed, but at least he had so far interfered very little with her running of the Circle.

            At first, Eve had been more than a little wary of making the journey to Kirkwall. She knew the templars here would be different than those in Ferelden, and even Ostwick. Indeed, they were a rather cold lot. Templars were not, as a rule, supposed to socialize with their charges, maintaining emotional distance and all that. But at Ostwick, there had not been the tension that was so palpable here, and Kinloch had been downright liberal in that regard. She smiled to herself. _It makes Sam stick out like a sore thumb._ She hoped their obvious friendship wouldn’t cost him with his new brothers in arms. She sighed; Circle life would run more smoothly if friendship were less taboo between the Order and mages.

            Looking across the hall, she saw the Captain was still in his office, elbow-deep in papers and concentrated on writing something. As busy as the Circle kept her, she did not envy him. Cobbling a city back together in a power vacuum must be hellish.

            She walked to stand just inside the doorway to his office. “Captain?”

            He looked up, “Come in.”

            “After doing the numbers, we have enough to rebuild the rest of the library.”

            “At the expense of what else?” _Well, damn._

            “The barracks and dorms will have to wait for a few more months.”

            “You may start on the east wing of the library, but we may need more for the barracks and dorms. Orlais might actually send us people.”

            “Is that really likely?”

            “…Perhaps.” She quirked an eyebrow, and he continued, “Ever since the incident here, there has been… unrest… in some Circles.”

            “So I’ve heard.”

            He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and smiled ruefully, “Ferelden has been fortunate it seems.”

            “If it’s any comfort, it seems that unrest is less likely to be a worry here,” a corner of her mouth twitched up, “Those you kept here are here precisely because they did not turn to blood magic. They asked to return.”

            This was met with a non-committal clearing of this throat. “It was their only option.” He went back to writing.

            “How optimistic of you.” She started to turn away, but stopped, “The Circle can be better than just that.”

            He looked up at her again, silent. She couldn’t tell if her earnest statement made him suspicious. “Yes, it can,” He said after a moment, relaxing his posture. He opened his mouth, about to continue, when he was interrupted by a loud rumbling emanating from his stomach. He closed his mouth and cleared his throat. A slight blush crept into his cheeks. She tried not to smirk at the sight of a grown man in heavy, imposing plate armor blushing. His deepening color told her she hadn’t quite succeeded.

            “Have you eaten?”

            He went back to writing, “I will.”

            “Well I’m turning in. Take care of yourself, Captain.”

            “You as well, Enchanter.”

            She left to walk back to her room, but stopped, sighed, and turned away in the direction of the kitchens. Twenty minutes later, she was back in front of his desk and plunking a heavily laden plate on top of the papers he was looking at.

            “Here. Eat.”

            He looked up, startled, “I thought you were going to bed.”

            She smiled. “It was on the way.” It wasn’t. And before he could say so, she was disappearing back down the hall, yawning into her hand.


	7. Chapter 7

            She’d smiled and brought him food. The paranoid part of him had wondered for a split second if it was poisoned. He didn’t like the idea of a paranoid, Meredith-like part of himself and ate it in defiance. A few weeks ago a mage blew up the chantry, and then a smiling mage fed him.

            Despite his suspicions, he was glad he’d kept her as First Enchanter. Contrary to his fear that her age and grief would be a hindrance, she was competent and had a tireless reserve of energy when it came to repairing and running the Circle. She was also far more at ease around templars than the others, which made her infinitely easier to deal with than the Kirkwall mages. Sometimes he thought too much at ease, especially when he saw her with Sam. He knew Ferelden had changed, but the mage and templar were entirely too friendly. The lieutenant had continued his duty of watching over her, but instead of being her silent guard, he was a companion. Instead of remaining appropriately detached, he was constantly in conversation or joined in activity with her. But after observing the pair, there was nothing he could actually find to reprimand the younger man for. For all the time they spent in each other’s company, there was never anything _untoward_. There were no soft touches; they never stood too close, and he never saw secret mooning smiles or doe-eyes. In a moment he was not proud of, he’d followed the two one evening as they left the compound, but returned to his office shortly after he saw they only intended to practice swordplay. While a mage learning swords was a puzzling oddity, it was actually against any rules.

            He glanced down at the sword that lay across the desk in front of him. It was the twin of the one the First Enchanter carried. He’d never seen her with a staff. When the sword had been brought back after the salvage of the caravan, he’d been surprised to find there was no enchantment upon it. Her peculiarity also extended to her dress. She wore trousers and a tunic or shirt instead of traditional Circle robes. While he took no issue with it, he frequently caught his men’s eyes lingering over-long on her backside. And though he grudgingly understood the appeal, it was a problem he did not need. He had screened those under his command as best he could, but he wasn’t a fool. Beauty was not always an asset to a mage, and there were plenty among his men who had little enough respect for mages. But as long as they did their duty and obeyed his rules, he had no choice but to keep them. However, her position as First Enchanter and her friendship with Sam all but guaranteed the good behavior of his men.

            He turned the sword over, inspecting it, thumbing the edge. It had been delivered to him dented and covered in scorched gore. It ought to be returned to her. The blade was solid, made of fine white steel, and not for the first time, he wondered how she’d managed to come by it. It had seemed a shame to give a blade like that back in such condition, and in a moment of whimsy he’d ordered it to be brought to a smith to have it repaired. The man had done a fair job, and it now lay before him polished, with sharp unmarred edges. Perhaps carrying the swords would even be a good disguise for her this evening.

            Tonight he was bringing her into the city, and it was better if the Enchanter didn’t look like a mage. His investigations into the incident on the coast hadn’t yielded much in the way of results, but the city was still plagued by rogue mages. Most of the time they were easily dealt with. Today was different. The guard captain sent a messenger that morning informing him that her men had been looking into a string of disappearances. The corpses had finally been found in a dingy, out-of-the-way warehouse in Lowtown. Their throats had been cut and their blood drained. Her guard had been stopped from further investigation by a set of nasty wards, and she’d sent to ask for the Circle’s assistance in getting past them. If the First Enchanter were unable to dispel the wards, then the building would have to be burned. He hoped that would not be the case; he needed these mages found. The Order could ill afford to continue allowing a den of blood mages murdering the citizenry.

 

o.O.o

 

            She ran for the door, retching as she went, barely pausing to apologize when her sick splattered near feet. The stench of corpses had set her stomach churning. But it wasn’t just the smell. She’d never seen this type of magic. Sure, she’d heard of it, was aware of the basic concepts, but experiencing the aftermath was a gut curdling horror she’d been wholly unprepared for. How did one person inflict such things upon another? She squatted against the wall, leaning forward to let her head hang between her knees. A handkerchief dangled in her peripheral vision, but she barely twitched her face to the side before reaching to take it.

            “Are you alright, Enchanter?”

            “Yes,” She took a few breaths as she wiped her mouth. “It’s…” She gestured ineloquently behind her. “Yes,” she finished lamely.

            Another handkerchief was being handed to her. “Hold this over your face. It will help with the smell.” It was coated in something sharp and strong smelling.

            She took it, but did not move to rise. “…Not just the smell.”

            She startled when he knelt in front of her. She kept her head down, but turned up her eyes. “Take your time.”

            She nodded, taking a few more breaths before standing.

            “Here, take this.” She poured the water from the skin he gave her into her hand, wiping her face before swishing and swallowing it to clean the taste of bile from her mouth.

            The cloth worked tolerably well to keep the stench from overwhelming her, but the sight of the bodies was still disturbing. _Undo the wards, investigate, find who did this, and kill them._ She repeated the mantra to herself as she carefully avoided looking at the corpses and set to work investigating the wards. At least she could do that with her eyes closed. They were strong, but crudely cast. She wondered if this was the nature of blood magic. After a few minutes, they were undone, and she motioned the guards and templars forward. The severe-looking blond woman, who had been introduced as the captain of the guard stepped in front of her. “You needn’t stay, Enchanter. I can have someone wait outside with you.”

            “No, I- thank you,” She smiled tightly, “There might be more.” The guard captain nodded and moved off to join her men. They’d moved into the various rooms and were busy rifling through chests of drawers and crates.

            Eve steeled herself and looked once again at the bodies. _You were supposed to close the eyes._ She walked over to stand above them, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch their faces. She glanced around and found some strips of cloth. Picking the least gored of them, she covered their faces, but dark marks down the throat of the first gave her pause. As she gingerly pulled aside collars and sleeves, she saw that the veins of each victim had blackened. Simply bleeding a person didn’t do this. She called to the Knight Captain, and pointed out the markings when he came over to her. “Something else was done to them. I’m not sure exactly what it is, but it feels-” This time she cautiously lay a finger over a vein, questing with a small tendril of magic. “-unclean. It’s-”

            “It’s the taint.” The guard captain stood at her shoulder. At the Knight Captain’s uncertain look, she nodded firmly, “I’ve seen it before; it’s darkspawn taint.”

            “Thank you, Guard Captain,” then he turned to her. “There were darkspawn in the horde that attacked you.”

            “Yes.” She was already turning away to explore the rest of the building. _Investigate, find who did this, and kill them._

           

o.O.o

 

            She stood in the doorway, eyes closed in concentration. She’d grown increasingly frustrated when searching by traditional means yielded little. He noticed that the right side of her face scrunched more than her left when she was focused. Her hands hung at her side, fingers slowly tracing a pattern in the air as she mouthed a spell. Her use of magic was so _discreet_. She held it tightly and expended only the energy that was necessary. When he’d first met her, he thought his difficulty sensing her magic was a result of her being drained at the time. But little changed as she regained her reserves; her apprentice was the same. It was as if they kept it buried, tamping it down when it wasn’t being used. Even when she was teaching the apprentices, she barely used it.

She opened her eyes and cautiously walked to the corner of the room. She knelt down, and he felt her dispel a ward. Unsheathing one of her swords, she pried up a floorboard, and when that yielded nothing, she pried up another.

            “Here,” she stood and turned, leafing through a small stack of papers she held towards him. “Some of these are letters.” She kept leafing. “These look like copies from a book.” He waited patiently for her to finish and hand him the letters. “They used nicknames or codenames. There are a few with initials. Do any of these seem familiar? Something you heard around the Kirkwall Circle?”

            He glanced through the papers. “Nothing seems immediately familiar.” He folded the letters and tucked them into a pocket.

            “I can ask around back at the Circle. Do you still have any records? The most likely explanation is that they were originally from Kirkwall and looking for revenge.”

            “Our records have survived, but that won’t help us find them any more easily if we don’t know exactly who they are. Much as I may wish it, I don’t have the men to chase down the owner of every phylactery.”

            “But you do have the phylacteries.”

            “Yes.” One of the few good things to come from Meredith’s paranoia was the extra safeguards she put on the phylacteries. She’d kept the location – in an out of the way and secure part of the Gallows - a secret from all but a few of the higher officers.

            “Good, then we can hunt them,” and with a look of determination she started towards the door, as if she intended to start hunting that instant.

            He couldn’t help the rueful smile at the irony of a mage being so eager to do his duty. “‘We?’ Usually that’s what templars do, Enchanter.”

            His humor was lost on her because the next thing he knew, she’d whipped around to face him. She was still, but her expression was stony, and her eyes sparked with a rebellious anger. “Yes, ‘we’. You needed me today. You’ll need me again. Captain.”

            He smiled again in an effort to make peace. “That was not me forbidding you, Enchanter.”

            Her lips thinned, whether in contrition or controlled anger at his ill-timed teasing, he wasn’t sure, but she nodded. “Thank you, Captain.” And with that, she turned and walked to the door. “That’s all I was able to find. I’ll be outside.” In his amusement he almost forgot to send one of his men after her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will finally be getting to some action, wewt!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheeeee

            It didn’t take the templars long to finish their investigation of the site. They packed up anything that could help identify the mages, as well as forbidden books about blood magic. The guard would handle the rest. Eve was relieved to be away from the place, and she couldn't wait to tell Sam that they may finally have a chance at exacting revenge on their friends’ murderers. Her mind was so awhirl with plans to catch the culprits that she almost didn’t feel the twinge at the edge of her senses. She couldn’t quite place the sensation, only that it was something to do with magic. _What are you doing?_ The feeling intensified as they continued through the streets. _Where are you?_ She stopped walking, and closed her eyes, questing outwards. _Ah, there._

            Letting the feeling guide her, she stepped backwards slowly, eyes half closed. The niggling at her senses turned stronger, and she followed it down a smaller side street. And then, of a sudden, it stopped. Her eyes snapped fully open, searching for what she could no longer sense. There was only an empty street. Then she staggered back, feeling the breath and energy yanked from her. Someone had drained her. _Why would they..?_ Trying to steady herself and catch her breath, her eyes landed on two men approaching her from the front. They bore shields with the templar emblem. _That’s not right. The Captain was back-_

            A massive shield arced around from behind her, hitting her square in the chest and tossing her backwards, behind its wielder. Landing hard on her back, her palms scraped at the street as she tried to catch herself and stop her head from smacking against the cobbles. The clang of two blades colliding had her scrabbling backwards. She looked up to see the Knight Captain swinging at the two templars in front of her. He’d already landed a fatal blow on one man’s neck and would make short work of the other. But looking around, she saw more coming. Shoving herself to her feet, she drew her swords.

            Fear and adrenaline pounded through her; she’d never used her swords without her magic, except in practice. She looked to the Captain. The templar before him would soon be dead. The man was brutally powerful and fought with a focused skill she’d have envied if she weren’t terrified. But leaving the fight to the Captain was out of the question. More men were appearing from around the corner of a building. Taking a deep breath and reminding herself she’d survived worse, Eve pulled a small bottle of lyrium from the pouch at her waist. She only had time for one spell before they realized she’d renewed herself and drained her again. Swallowing half the bottle, she poured all the power it gave her into a great, thick branching stream of lightning. The templar’s armor worked against the against them, drawing the energy in. They screamed as the lightning crackled through their armor, collapsing as it seared through their bodies. The moment of relief she felt as they fell was short-lived. Two more men appeared from the alley beside them. She felt a small wave of nausea and stumbled a bit as they drained her again, but she was prepared this time and recovered quickly. She ran past the Captain and his lone opponent.

            She surprised them, dropping low and sliding under the first blow, slicing outward at their legs. One cry of pain told her she found a mark, but now she was at a disadvantage to the two men bearing down on her. Scrambling backwards, she found her feet. She nearly panicked, realizing she had no idea how to manage an attack from two fronts. She was barely parrying the blows they rained down on her. Suddenly, one of her opponents fell forward, spewing blood from where the Captain’s sword thrust through his neck. In her haste to avoid him falling on her, she momentarily dropped her guard. Her remaining opponent took the opportunity to swing the hard edge of his shield into her ribs.

            She fell back with a pain so blinding, she was unable to cry out. She tried to put out her hand to break her fall, but her body protested even that movement, and she failed to catch herself. Crumpling onto her back, Eve could only try to breathe through the hot lance of pain piercing her chest. After a brief scuffle there was a sickening fleshy crunch of a sword hacking through flesh and bone. It was followed by the clang of armor crashing to the ground. A moment later there was a soft jingle of mail as the Knight Captain knelt beside her. She would have heaved a sigh of relief if her ribs had allowed it. He stumbled a bit as he lowered himself down next to her. She took a moment to assess her injuries. Under a slowly bleeding gash, there were broken ribs, possibly sticking into a lung. She’d had a broken rib once before. Sam had accidentally gotten a good shot and not pulled a punch. It had hurt a lot, but it wasn’t as bad as the pain made it seem. She calmed herself with the fact that one lung remained undamaged. It hurt, but she’d live. She turned her head to the side to look at the Captain.

            “Your leg, can you walk?” her question came out weak and choked.

            “Somewhat.” _Always so succinct._ Judging by the knife sticking out of his calf and the amount of blood pooling on the ground at his foot, this seemed a bit optimistic. Or at least likely to change soon. “Interesting way to disarm your enemies.”

            He chuckled in surprise, and lowered himself to the ground next to her. “It worked. And if it worked, it wasn’t stupid.”

            She smiled weakly, “Captain, I would never imply that.” She fumbled for the lyrium bottle and took another swallow. She sent a small tendril of magic into his wound, but let out a strangled half-scream half-gasp when she felt her magic wrenched from her again. That one she was _not_ prepared for.

            Her head snapped up to see the Captain looking at her in wide-eyed surprise. “Oh Maker, I’m so sorry!” He leaned over her, hands hovering and unsure what to do.

            She struggled for breath, “Why the ever-loving _fuck_ -”

            He looked down and then back up at her, mouth working for an explanation. His look of contrition did nothing to dull her rage. “I-”

            “You stupid piece of …” Her angry expression was cut through with agony. “You nearly broke my ribs with your shield,” she gasped another breath, “And now,” another breath, “when they _are_ broken… and I try to heal your…stupid…fucking…” Talking was becoming too much, she realized as she heaved another painful breath. She rolled the bottle in her hand in front of him and continued, “This is all I’ve got now.” She indicated the pathetically small amount of potion left in the bottle. “I’m going to heal your leg… Then…” she waved her arm around at herself, “Bethany.”

            “Heal yourself first. I’ll manage.”

            “Can’t…too much…too complicated.” She took another shallow breath. “Just… get me to Bethany.” Thankfully, he didn’t continue arguing and nodded, then scooted closer so she could heal his leg. “Don’t have enough to numb the pain.” She swallowed the small bit of potion as he yanked the knife out of his leg with a grunt, and tried not to heave as she concentrated on closing the wound correctly.

            When she was finished, he tested the leg and bent to help her sit up. He carefully unhooked her swords from her back and swung them across his own before leaning down to pick her up. With a sharp wheeze of pain she panted out, “On second thought, you can just bring her here.” He carefully lowered her back down and removed his sash to create a pad between his steel breastplate and her injured side.

            “Better?”

            “M’no. Too bad some fuckwit wasted my last potion.”

            There was a soft smirk in his voice as he said, “So much for never implying I’m stupid, Enchanter.” She jerked in pain when she tried to stifle a laugh at this unexpected attempt at levity. After a few steps, “I’m sorry.”

            “So it does have a sense of humor,” she groaned between ragged breaths.

            “Yes, _it_ does.”


	9. Chapter 9

            _Maker_. This was not how he wanted to spend his evening. When the Enchanter had disappeared, he’d ordered the two men he’d brought with him to split up and search for her. He’d cursed his lack of foresight for bringing so few. They’d caught up to him shortly after he started their trek back to the docks. Cullen had wanted to leave them behind to deal with the bodies of their attackers, but fearing that more would ambush them, he settled for notifying the nearest guard. He would come by the keep the next day to speak with Aveline. With sword and shield in hand, they hurried back to the Gallows.

            Then there was the fiasco in the infirmary. The moment he’d set the Enchanter on Bethany’s table, Sam had burst through the door, taken one look at the injured mage, and firmly rooted himself between her and the Knight Captain.

            “She’s drained! What did you do?!” The demanding rage from the Lieutenant was unexpected.

            As Cullen was opening his mouth to reprimand his insubordination, she was reaching for the young man to explain that her injuries were not his fault. But sitting up had caused her to spasm as she strained her ribs, and she fell back again with a gasping grunt that had Bethany yelling at them to get out of her infirmary. The Lieutenant immediately started yelling that, no, he would not leave, and Cullen grabbed his arm and started to haul the man bodily from the room, at which point he was shoved back, jarring the table the Enchanter was on. The next thing both templars knew, Bethany was pushing them both out, and the door was slamming and locking behind them. After confining the Lieutenant to his quarters with two guards posted outside with orders he was not to leave, he was finally able to retreat back to his office.

            His peace would not last long. Soon the door to his office was banging open, and the First Enchanter was striding into the room.

            “Let him out.”

            He looked up. She hadn’t even changed out of her bloody clothes, though she appeared healed of her injuries. “No.”

            “Let him out, _please_.”

            He dragged his hand over his face. _What sort of madness has overtaken this world?_ Whatever was between the Enchanter and Lieutenant needed to end. This sort of chaos was trying his mood. “He attacked his superior officer.”

            “And you took it well. Now let him go please.”

            “Enchanter, whatever is going on between the two of you-”

            That brought her up short. “He’s my brother.”

            A dumfounded, “What?” was all he managed before she plowed ahead.

            “It’s not…he’s my brother. There is nothing ‘going on’”. She caught her breath, and continued more calmly, “Please, he was scared for me, nothing more. He never wanted me to come here. We all heard the…” She waved her hands about, “ _stories_ about this place.”

            He regarded her for a moment. “Insubordination comes with consequences.”

            “Please, just let me talk to him.”

            “He has more loyalty to you than the Order.”

            She stared at him in silence, taken aback.

            “However noble his intentions were, a Templar’s duty is to the Order.”

            “And that is a loyalty that has never wavered. He has always done what is right and just by the Maker. He’s the one who discovered my magic! He’s the one who took me to the Circle as a child! He was sixteen! He told me that that was where I belonged!” Cullen’s eyebrows went up a fraction at that. “He… he- it’s just that he doesn’t believe that Kirkwall has always followed the Order’s tenets.” Cullen suppressed a wince at that statement. “He knows me - trusts me - all that I am. Just let me talk to him. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

            “That is for me to do, Enchanter.”

            “Please don’t dismiss him.” Fear started to color her features. “Send us back, but don’t dismiss him.”

            “I will not dismiss him, but for now that is all that I promise.”

            She nodded and turned to go.

            “How is your side, Enchanter?”

            She startled at the abrupt change in topic. “Fine… thank you for asking. How is your leg?”

            “Good, just like new.”

            “I’m glad to hear it.” She opened her mouth a sliver, as if to say something, then closed it again, standing awkwardly for a moment more before finally deciding to speak. “About earlier, when I healed your leg-”

            “It would have been better if you’d healed yourself first.”

            “I realize that now. Ungrateful ass.” A twinkling smile belied the bite of her words.

            He couldn’t help the corner of his mouth that quirked in reply. Her friendly obscenities were almost endearing. “I’ve never heard a lady swear as much as you do, Madam.”

            “And here I thought I was a mage, not a lady.”

            “I didn’t know the two were mutually exclusive.” She put her hand over her face, dragging downward in exasperation. _Is she blushing?_

            “You’re not used to magic being worked on you.” She said coming back around to her original thought.

            “No, I’m not.” He prayed she would not question that further.

            She pursed her lips, assessing. She took a breath, and for a moment he thought she would pry further, but instead offered, “Kirkwall was not what I expected, but… you’ve been decent. Please know that I’ll not harm you, Captain.” She met his eye, and a smile that could have been understanding ghosted across her features. “Though I realize it may take a while for you to know it.”

            He wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he only nodded his acknowledgement of her words before bidding her good night.

           

o.O.o

 

            It turned out Sam’s punishment was having the shite guard duties. Evening and overnight meant she saw him at dinner and briefly at breakfast. But he was no longer free to spar with her. She asked the Knight Captain how long this punishment would last, but his answer was noncommittal. She began to teach Roland swordplay and hand-to-hand combat while she waited for the Captain to forgive Sam, but the weeks dragged on. Her own skills would wither before too long if she did not have a decent practice partner. She decided to approach him one evening in the dining hall. Luckily for her, and perhaps sadly for him, he tended to eat quickly and alone. She’d always wondered at that – a captain so far from his men.

            He was surprised when she plunked her plate across from him, “May I?”

            His mouth was full, but he nodded. He stared at her as he chewed, and suspicion replaced surprise. He swallowed. “If you’re here to ask about Sam, the answer remains the same.”

            “Actually, I’m not.” She felt a blush threaten her cheeks. What seemed a normal request a moment ago now felt silly. Sure, Sam was a good teacher and a skilled swordsman, but now she was nervous the Captain would think her ridiculous.

            He was still staring; she’d paused too long. “What is it I can help you with?”

            “I… Sam was teaching me to fight without magic.” He continued to regard her in silence. _Maker, stop looking at me like that._ She was pleased at how evenly she managed to say,“Now that he has no time… I find myself in need of a practice partner.” Finished with her request, she looked intently at her fork.

            She looked up to see him smiling. “When do you usually practice?”

            The visible relief on her face should have been embarrassing. “Whenever is convenient.”

            “Which is?”

            “Usually an hour after dinner.”

            He put a last forkful to his mouth and rose. “I’ll see you in an hour then.”


	10. Chapter 10

            He’d stifled a laugh as he walked away from the table. He hoped she hadn’t seen and been offended. It was rare for him to see her composure slip. He smiled at the memory of her cursing like a common sailor at him when she’d been injured two weeks prior. And she’d been so nervous asking him to help her. Well, she’d certainly held her own in the fight when they’d been attacked. When he’d felt them drain her, he’d pushed her behind him, assuming that she would be helpless without her magic. It had surprised him. He chuckled to himself, opening his chamber door, at the thought of such a woman stammering like a new apprentice. It was… _not adorable_.

            Perhaps he shouldn’t have agreed to help her. His duty required that he maintain distance, not participate in idle hobbies. Then again, the skill she did have with a sword had clearly saved her life. He busied himself with reports and various administrative tasks for the intervening hour. When it came time to meet her, he shrugged into a thick leather jerkin and headed for the practice yard. He found her pacing in front of the rack of practice swords. She held two wooden short swords, and was nervously twirling them in circles, loosening her wrists.

            “So, what has he taught you?”

            She looked around at him. “Short swords and some hand-to-hand.”

            “What sort of hand-to-hand?”           

            “Um… there’s more than one type?”

            “There’s grappling, fists, …”

            “Not wrestling.”

            “First, let’s see how you do with those swords.”

            They squared off in the practice yard. She eyed him nervously. He was far bulkier than she, even without the armor, and he’d purposely chosen a large shield and the largest practice sword he could comfortably swing one-handed. He circled, and she slowly moved in a counterpoint. He looked her up and down. Her feet were in the right place, and though she’d been nervous before, the swords she held in guard didn’t waver. She balanced herself well, not hunching over or leaning backwards awkwardly, as most recruits were apt to do.

            He lunged. She parried with one sword, forcing his arm to swing outwards as she brought her other over and down across her body. His shield barely came up in time to block the swing. _Good._ He lunged from below this time, and with more power and speed. She danced back, parrying to move around him to strike at the back of his head. He blocked it more easily this time and turned to find her with a grin on her face.

            Back and forth, striking, parrying, and counter-striking they went. He tested, slowly increasing the swiftness and force of his attacks, finding her limits and strengths. She grinned the whole time, all prior nervousness forgotten. But despite her obvious skill, he had mass and reach on his side, as well as many more years of training. She fell for a feint, and he slammed his shield straight into her midsection. She only partially brought one arm up in time and went sprawling backwards into the sand. Her head hit the ground, and he rushed towards her, worried he’d been too rough. But she coughed and laughed, a full-bodied sound so free and filled with joy he couldn’t help but join. He walked to stand over her, and she lifted her head to peer at him with that silly grin plastered across her face.

            “Ow.” She giggled.

            “Then block it.”

            “I do believe that’s the second time you’ve done that to me, Captain.”

            He snorted and reached to pull her up. She grasped his wrist, and his fingers curled around her own, but they both pulled with too much force, and she stumbled into him. He brought his free hand up to catch her shoulder. Their clasped hands were now sandwiched between them, and he startled when he felt the back of his hand firmly pressed against her chest. Her laughing abruptly petered off, and she stepped back, clearing her throat.

            She laughed again. “Shit, sorry.”

            He turned to the side, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck in hopes that his arm would hide the embarrassment written in a blush on his face. “It was my fault.”

            She bent to pick up her swords, and turned back, giving him another of those brilliant grins. “Again?” No, he should never have agreed to this. _You stupid, foolish man._

 

o.O.o

 

            “Good morning, Captain.” This time she did not wait for his permission as she sat across from him as he ate breakfast.

            “Good morning, Enchanter.”

            “Here,” she said, handing him a letter. “Read this.”

            It was one of the letters recovered from the den of blood mages. He glanced at her and then to the letter. Other than some unfortunate grammar, nothing jumped out at him. “And?” he asked.

            “Look at the mistakes in the writing.”

            “Yes, and? Tell me your point, Enchanter.”

            “These mistakes are not just the sort an uneducated Free Marcher would make. Whoever wrote this is foreign.”

            He reached for the letter and looked more carefully. “Can you tell where from?”

            “The mistakes and the word use are consistent with a native of Tevinter. And look,” she pointed with determined excitement, “they mention an arrival date. Two days ago. They must most likely have come by ship.”

            “And you want ship logs.”

            “Yes.”

            “I’ll ask Aveline to have her guard question the dockmasters.”

            “Whoever came here may have bribed someone to keep their entrance into Kirkwall secret. We need to see which captains have recently arrived from Tevinter.”

            “That’s got to be at least half of them, and Tevinter may not have been their last stop. Whoever wrote this letter may not have even come by ship.”

            “But we know that they probably arrived on a ship, and we know when. If I can get on the ships that also arrived on that date, I can probably tell if a mage was on the ship. As long as they performed some kind of magic.”

            “That’s a lot of ifs. And anyone from Tevinter is likely to be a mage.”

            “It’s a place to start. Besides, we just have to find a mage who came in on a ship that day. How many can there be?”

            He snorted at that. “And how to you propose we gain access to all the ships? Unless there is a good reason, we can’t have the guard hold them for us.”

            “Haven’t thought that far.”

            He sat back, thinking. “You’re a mage, pretend you wish to escape Kirkwall.”

            “And you?”

            The corner of his mouth curled, “No one will question a hired bodyguard.”

            “When can we go?”

            He almost hid the smirk at her excitement, “When can you be ready?”

 

o.O.o

 

            It turned out getting information about shipping histories was fairly easy. A few gold coins and they had the names of captains and ships. Talking to the captains proved trickier. Many of those traveling between Kirkwall and Tevinter had few moral qualms about outright kidnapping the unimportant and adding them to the rest of their cargo as slaves. More than once Cullen had wished he were able to simply have Aveline haul the men in for questioning or been allowed to hold the ships for inspection. And out of three of the five ships the First Enchanter had so far sensed nothing.

            The fourth ship they came to was being loaded with goods and looked ready to cast off soon. “Make this quick, Enchanter.” It would be too easy for the crew to capture them this close to departure.

            Her expression was as uneasy as he felt. “Can you swim, Captain?”

            “I’d rather not have to.”

            “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

            The captain, a Darius Tiberium, was smiling and gracious as he led them aboard his vessel. But when the captain offered to show them quarters, Cullen did not for a moment believe that the man following them below decks with a mop and bucket was there to clean anything. When he surreptitiously squeezed the Enchanter’s elbow, she coughed briefly in acknowledgement. As with the last three, he engaged the captain with questions about the ship and how fast it would arrive in Tevinter and the price of their passage. While he busied Tiberium, she felt for the tell-tale signs of magic.

            Above them, he heard what sounded like a heavy rope hit the deck. In a last ditch attempt to avoid trouble, he hinted to the captain that they had valuable cargo that would need transport. Of course they had to return to shore and retrieve it prior to boarding, but could he guarantee its safe passage? Their ever oily and obliging host brought them to the captain’s office to assure them that his safe would be more than adequate. It all unraveled from there.

            The moment Tiberium closed the office door, the First Enchanter pulled a knife from her sleeve and, twisting behind him, held it to his throat.

            The captain was utterly unshaken by her actions. “My dear lady, I would suggest you rethink whatever it is you are about to do.”

            Instead of addressing the captain, she turned to Cullen. “There was lyrium here. But it’s wrong.”

            “Wrong?” His heart sank.

            Now she did address Tiberium, “Tell me about the lyrium you were keeping.”

            The captain’s composure slipped only slightly, “It was lyrium. I don’t know what else there is to say about it.”

            She closed her eyes. A moment later she opened them and waved the hand not holding a dagger to the desk, “Over there. There’s… whatever it is.”

            As he went around the desk to search for her “wrong lyrium”, the door opened to four armed men. Two of them held bows. The Enchanter, swung herself and the captain around to back them towards the rear of the room. One man whispered to his comrade and left.

            “Young miss, may I suggest you take your knife from the captain?” Cullen had a sinking feeling that this was not the first time the crew had handled such a scenario.

            She looked at Cullen, her eyes wide and begging him to hurry. “If I let him go, you’ll kill us.”

            “It would be less messy to just let you go.” As he said this, there was a lurch.

            “And how will you let us go if there is no land to let us go on?” Cullen dug faster through the drawers.

            Tiberium answered, “ _Service_ in Tevinter would be preferable to death, no?” One of the men drew his bow and knocked an arrow.

            She turned to Cullen again as she maneuvered herself and Tiberium between the archer and himself. “Nearest to me, I think.” He yanked open the top drawer next to her.

            “Nothing.” He caught a whiff of something. “No, wait.” There was a dust in the back of the drawer. “It’s red lyrium.”

            “What?”

            “Corrupted lyrium.”

            “Anything else there?”

            “No.”

            And with that, magic blossomed from her in two directions. One wave carried the ship’s captain and his guards crashing into the far wall of the office, and a second shredded through the windowpanes of the ship. She pulled him towards the hole, and they both jumped into the sea below. Surfacing and spluttering out half swallowed saltwater, he looked up and saw the archers standing at the broken window.

            “Dive!” At least she had the good sense to do as he ordered without looking around first. They swam towards shore as quickly as possible, only coming up for air as needed. Eventually, he looked back and saw they were out of range, and yelled for her to halt when she next came up to breathe. She took a moment to rest, floating on her back. There was still a good distance to go until they reached the shore.

            “I’m sorry I couldn’t give you warning, Captain.” Maker, if she was apologizing for their magic-aided escape, she must think him a delicate lamb. The thought rankled him.

            “You can top coddling me, Enchanter.” The words came out more harshly than he’d intended.

            “Will you always be a jackass when I’m trying to be nice?” The hint of smile in her voice softened her retort.

            “Maybe.” The corner of his mouth twitched up in rueful apology.

            He heard a barely audible sigh. “Captain, I’m going to make us a raft to get us back to the docks.”

            “Alright.”

            She closed her eyes and whispered. He jumped as something brushed his foot, but it turned out to be a large cushion of kelp rising from under them. When it had fully surfaced, she collapsed onto her back, breathing hard. “One sec,” she breathed.

            He grunted in understanding; swimming was hard exercise even without trying to outrun arrows. He glanced over at her as she took a moment to rest. Now that they were out of the water, he was all too aware of the way the cloth of her soaked shirt and trousers clung to her. She was slender, but the graceful curves of gently flaring hips and what he judged to be well-shaped, though not overly large, breasts were captivating. His head snapped towards the coast as she sat up. As she spelled their makeshift craft towards the shore, he mentally shook himself. _No_.

            After reaching the docks and hauling themselves out of the water, she turned to him, laughing. “My, we look a sight!”

            He couldn’t help smiling back. “Aye, we do. Best get back and get out of these clothes.”

            She started, and her eyes widened slightly in amusement.

            _Oh Maker._ He held up a hand, as if pushing her words away. But he couldn’t help laughing, “Now, that is not what I meant.” He wasn’t sure if he was blushing.

            “And here, I thought I would never see that sense of humor again.” Her voice had dropped low, and the twinkle in her eyes was positively wicked. _Andraste’s flaming sword, was she flirting-? No. No, she was not._

            He snorted.

            She smirked at him, “Just let me dry off.” And with a few words and a twitch of her fingers, her clothes were dry. “I can dry your clothes as well if you like.”

            “That would be nice.” Ever since the conversation in his office, she had been _considerate_ in her use of magic, always warning him if she were going to cast. Or like now, asking permission to use it on him. He found he was not uncomfortable around her. He wondered, not for the first time, if this was how it was at the Fereldan Circle, all easy conversation and light joking. Sometimes, there were brief moments when he forgot she was a mage, usually when she smiled or smiled and swore at him. Perhaps someday he could make his Circle closer to that.

            As she flicked the water from his clothing and back into the sea, his reverie was broken by a shout of, “Mage!” _Shit._ He should never have let her use magic in public, especially when he wasn’t wearing a uniform to legitimize it. By now a few had taken up the call, and were advancing towards them. Some bore weapons. He stepped forward slowly, circling the Enchanter to position himself between her and the approaching men.

            He held his hands out to his side, a placating gesture, and addressed the crowd. “This is an Enchanter of the Kirkwall Circle, and we’re heading back there now. She’s no threat to you.”

            “An’ who’re you to speak for ‘er?”

            “Knight Captain Cullen.”

            The man’s lip curled in a smirk of disbelief. “Yeh’ve forgotten yer armor, Ser.”

            “They will recognize me at the Gallows, and if that’s not enough then go find a guard.”

            The man sneered at them, “Then we can do the honor of escorting you back.” The crowd closed towards them. Cullen put a hand behind him to corral her away from the workers. They walked the short distance to the ferry in this fashion. He was relieved and the crowd dispersed when the ferryman identified them. The Enchanter was subdued and silent during the boat ride back.

 

o.O.o

 

            Despite their earlier exertions, Eve insisted on holding their sparring match that evening. She was furious and frustrated and needed an outlet. Unfortunately, their practice didn’t bring her the carefree release it usually did, and she showed less grace and coordination. Her attacks were mostly brute force, and there was a vague thought that she should exercise better control over her emotions, but Eve couldn’t bring herself to care. She just needed to hit something.

            After the umpteenth time she peeled herself out of the sand, he said, “Enchanter, you usually know how to dodge that.” It wasn’t an explicit question.

            “I’ve done nothing, and yet they fear me.”

            “I…” He seemed uncertain of how to continue. “They remember a mage blowing up the Chantry, and with it, half of High Town. There were demons and abominations in the streets. It will be a while before anyone forgets that.”

            She didn’t know how to respond to that. It was infuriating, but it was not illogical. But unfairness frustrated her no end. She wanted to scream, but that would be too childish.

            She took a calming breath. “I think I’m done for the evening, Captain. Thank you.” She started toward the weaponry to return her swords.

            “Enchanter?” His voice was soft, coaxing. A templar, especially one from the infamous Kirkwall Circle, shouldn’t have such a voice. It was warm cider and honey, and his gentle, almost pleading tone assuaged some of her rage. She schooled her features into a polite expression and turned to face him.

            “Hmm?”

            He met her gaze. “You don’t scare everyone.”

            The smile she gave him was weak but genuine. “Captain, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” _Don’t blush girl._ And she walked away before she could.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I forgot to post this. But I just realized that I didn't, and it was probably hella confusing. I am so sorry.

            Cullen had had infatuations before. Before taking vows, there had been plenty of fraternization in the ranks of the templar recruits, and he’d had one or two dalliances. They were never serious, just the young and inexperienced fumbling to learn about their bodies and those of the opposite sex. Once he’d taken vows that had ended. The only _opportunities_ he’d had at the Fereldan Circle had been with mages, but he’d resisted those temptations.

            Soon after he’d first arrived in Kirkwall, some of his fellows had taken him to a night at the Rose. After years of not having had a woman it had been a relief in a way. However, once it was done and over, sleeping with a prostitute didn’t sit well with him, and he never went back. Once he’d been promoted to Knight Captain it was out of the question anyway. Spending nearly all of his time in the Gallows had given him little opportunity to meet non-mages and non-templars, and most of the ones he did come in contact with were unappealing. There were some pretty ones to be sure, but his attraction generally died after a few vapid conversations. Eventually, after denying himself for so long, it became an easy, if sometimes frustrating, habit to take care of his needs on his own.

            And now here he was, a mess in his sheets as if he were some adolescent boy. The dream had been vivid – deliciously, tantalizingly vivid. He splashed water on his face over a basin, and looked at himself sternly in the mirror. This was not how the acting-Knight Commander thought of the First Enchanter, _or any mage_ , under his protection. At first she’d been pretty, but otherwise unremarkable. Their relationship had been politely professional. But his admiration of her had grown. Despite what had befallen her, she’d persevered, working tirelessly to rebuild the Circle. Then there had been that night in the city, that split second of fear, the stab of adrenaline when he’d seen her drained and jumped to protect her. She’d fought beside him, and then healed him. Forgave him, when he’d drained her and maybe even understood why. There was her gentle, if foul-mouthed teasing and her unabashed, joyfully wild grin when she sparred with him. And he’d been able to tease her back, light-hearted moments he hadn’t experienced in longer than he could remember. She’d put herself between him and men with arrows. _Stop._ He stood with his hands over his face and sighed. It would pass; it always had. She was pretty and kind, but that was hardly uncommon. _And brave, and fierce, and devoted, and not just pretty, but beautiful…_ He shook away his thoughts and shaved and dressed.

            Waiting on his desk after breakfast was the news he’d been hoping for: the Ostwick Circle was finally sending men to him, both mages and templars. They were promised to be in Kirkwall within the month. He was glad it was Ostwick; he’d always heard the templars there were even-handed and that there were rarely issues between them and their charges. He sighed in relief. There was a knock at the door, and he cheerfully called for whomever it was to enter.

            “Knight Captain.” It was Sam.

            “Lieutenant, what is it you need?”

            The young man clasped and unclasped his fingers at his side before responding. _And the day had started so well._ “It’s about Eve.” _Had._ Cullen said nothing and waited for the young man to continue. “There’s been talk.” A flush was creeping across the Lieutenant’s cheeks.

            “Talk?”

            “Yes, talk.” Sam appeared to steel himself and trudged forward. “Some of the men have mentioned that you and Eve have spent a great deal of time together.” Cullen had no response for this. A junior officer confronting him about his behavior with a mage was an awkward new experience, and that was ignoring that said junior officer was the brother of the woman in question. He wasn’t sure whether to feel sheepish or annoyed. He settled for annoyed. Taking his Captain’s silence as a sign to keep talking, the younger man soldiered on, “There seems to be a concern about her _attitudes_ towards templars. I was asked,” and here the man did color, but more with anger than embarrassment now, “about any _proclivities_ she might have.”

            “Proclivities.”

            “Some expressed curiosity as to whether she would be as willing to spread her legs for any man of the Order as she is for you.”

            A hot lump took form in his gut at that. “The First Enchanter is doing no such thing.”

            The Lieutenant cleared his throat, and there was an almost imperceptible sideways jerk of his eyes as he said, “Of course, I corrected them.” _Oh good, Sweet Maker, I just removed you from night watches._ The obvious expectation of punishment told Cullen just what sort of methods had been used to “correct” his brothers in arms.

            Cullen sighed inwardly. “She’s the First Enchanter for Maker’s sake.”

            “And much younger and prettier than the last one you had.”

            He’d have liked to think he’d culled his ranks of this type. And while he couldn’t be sure anyone would actually try anything, he had become all too aware of the abuses that had gone unpunished during Meredith’s time as Commander. “You’ve the night watch then. On her.”

            “And during the day?”

            “I’ll watch her.”

            “If something happens to her then, I will hold you personally responsible, Captain.” And he was out the door before Cullen could issue a reprimand.

 

o.O.o

 

            There are some things one never thinks they’ll have to discuss with their little sister, or at least hope they never do, or post-pone as long as possible… hopefully indefinitely. Such was not Sam’s luck today it seemed. He found her in their practice yard.

            “Didn’t know we were on for tonight.”

            “I was waiting for Captain Cullen.”

            “You two still practice together.”

            “I will improve better if I have variety.”

            “How much time do you spend with him?”

            “Not that much. I see him at breakfast in the mess, and most times at dinner in the evening. And we are still working with the guard to try to find out who attacked us.”

            _So more than is proper._ “Makers balls, Evie!”

            “What? I’m trying to be nice! It’s not as if there is any love lost between templars and mages around here! It doesn’t hurt for me to make peace somehow,” she glances down, “to make friends.”

            “That’s just it! Not all of them are interested in peace! And certainly not _friendship_! You’ve got to be more wary of the men around here-”

            “There aren’t only men, Sam.”

            “There are _three_ women, and they aren’t much better. They aren’t like me, or Gregoire, or Willem. When they see you being so friendly, they…” he floundered, “assume things!”

            “But _we’re_ friendly!”

            “I’m your brother. And trust me when I say I’ve made that _very_ well known.”

            “Well then-!”

            “You endanger yourself.”

            Her mouth snapped shut. The last time he’d spoken like that was in Ferelden when he’d told her to keep Roland away from Knight Corporal Dorenn. “What do you mean?”

            “I doubt anyone will really try to harm you, but there are plenty who have unkind things to say about your closeness with the Captain. He’s assigned me the night watch again for you.”

            She smiled weakly, sticking the point of the practice sword in the sand. “Damn, and I’d just got you back so you could kick my arse at this again.” She set the sword back on the rack.

            He tried to smile reassuringly. “You’ve still got the Captain, Evie.”

            Her brows drew together in uncertainty. “Sam, does he-”

            “Don’t worry, we won’t let anyone hurt you, Evie, neither of us will.”

            “I’m hardly helpless, dear brother. You should know; you made sure of it.”

            “Well really, I’m probably just being an overprotective older brother, but you’d know I’d murder anyone who hurt you.” He winked at her, “And I don’t need that on my hands.”

            “I’d turn someone to fade paste for you, too.” Her face dropped. “What about the others?” He knew rightly that she’d turn people to fade paste for any just cause, and he didn’t need that either.

            “I know the good ones,” he reassured her, “and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

            That won her a grin, which turned slyly teasing as he asked, “Do you seriously make the Knight Captain dinner?” This was one of the tamer tales he’d heard around the Gallows.

            She raised her eyebrows in mild amusement. “That was once! Weeks, no months ago! And it was late at night, and he hadn’t eaten.” _Good grief, Evie, you can’t do that to a man._ He’d been surprised at how easy it was to get Cullen to take his worries about Evie seriously, and even more surprised at the Captain’s anger on her behalf. He was beginning to have suspicions about why.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long! I had a friend in town, and fool that I am I have another fic going, so it's busy around here. But thank you my dear readers for all the kudos and comments! I have a bit of a breather, so we are getting to the action!

            “Captain, aren’t you bored yet?”

            “No.”

            “Liar.”

            She had tried for playful, but his sigh from across the hall was devoid of humor. At first he’d been subtler in his excuses for watching over her, requesting that she accompany him to places he knew she already needed to go. It had been easy to use their shared goal of tracking down the anonymous Tevinter mage. However, after a lull in the investigation, Eve was forced to spend more time tending to her regular duties. Today he’d spent the last half hour staring out the window as she looked over ledgers and supply lists for the Circle. It was getting ridiculous. Being an inconvenience rankled.

            “I could always work in the courtyard. It’s lovely out.”

            He didn’t look at her. “Not unless that is your wish.”

            “You’re doing it again.”

            “What’s that?”

            “I’m trying to be nice.”

            Before, that would have at least earned her a chuckle. Now, he remained facing the window. “Thank you, Enchanter.” The Captain had become increasingly less conversational since he started watching over her, and it was decidedly irksome. He’d begun to sidestep her jokes and friendly attempts at conversation. She supposed he was annoyed by the inconvenience of guarding her, probably blamed her for the rumors and resulting complications. Despite this, he appeared resolute in his self-imposed task.

            She leaned back, stretching a neck that had been too long bent over a desk. It was late, and she was getting hungry; he probably was too. With a sour glance at the templar’s back, she rose to put the ledger-book back on the shelf. Just as she was climbing up her chair to reach the top, she was startled by the soft clink of an armored boot, and lost her footing.

            “Shit-flaming-mother-of-Andraste!” As she crashed into the shelf and slid gracelessly to the floor, she heard the scrabbling of said armored boots, but he was too late to catch her.

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

            “It’s fine,” she cut him off.

            “Are you all right?” he asked, extending his hand.

            “Fine.” She took it, pulling herself to her feet. She held onto his hand for a split-second too long when he made to let go. Perhaps it was unkind, but she would have answers. “Captain, have I offended you?”

            “What?” His eyes flicked briefly over her shoulder, but his expression was impassive.

            “Have I. Offended you.”

            “No.”

            “You’ve become rather taciturn lately.”

            He cleared his throat and swallowed, his face still blank. “I’ve been distracted.”

            _You are a terrible liar, Ser._ As if to confirm this, his face started to color as she continued to stare at it. She pursed her lips in defeat. Pushing the issue now would get her   nowhere. She managed a thin smile before striding from her office towards the mess.

 

o.O.o

 

            Cullen knew she was confused by his behavior, and he felt guilty about it. The guilt had intensified when she asked if it was _her_ fault that he barely spoke to her. But it was better to let her remain confused than explain. Despite the amount of time he spent in her presence, paradoxically she was safer if he appeared colder. And _he_ was safer if he kept her at arm’s length.

            He’d tried to shake off his developing infatuation with her. First he’d just pushed it from his head, but she had a way of wandering back around, flowing into his thoughts like rain through leaves. So he’d indulged his fantasies in the privacy of his own rooms, hoping that it would slake his desire, but instead that had backfired spectacularly, only serving to increase his longing. Now he was back to pushing the thoughts from his head, knowing that it was in both of their best interests and safety to rid himself of those thoughts. It wasn’t as if she reciprocated his feelings, or whatever they were. She’d never been anything but civil, even friendly as they’d grown acquainted, but Cullen had no illusions about her views of him. He was a Templar, and aside from her brother he knew her trust of his kind had a limit. Acknowledging the impossibility at least made it a good deal easier.

            Today found him overseeing a shipment of supplies into the Gallows. At least his presence beside the First Enchanter was legitimized by the large crates of lyrium that accompanied the more mundane supplies. Only the Knight Commander and Captain held the keys to the lyrium stores, so he oversaw its unloading as the First Enchanter and Bethany directed the tranquil and the apprentices in the unloading and unpacking of the other supplies.

            “Knight Captain!” Cullen turned to see one of his men striding towards him waving a pack of letters. He tore open the least official of them, a report from Aveline, sparing the ostentatiously seal-bedecked ones a wary glance. Val Royeaux had something to say to him, and it brought a sinking feeling to the pit of his stomach. It could wait until after dinner.

            He wished he hadn’t waited until after dinner to read the letter. He was sure whatever messenger had brought the news had already spread it, and it was a complication the Gallows didn’t need.

            “Enchanter, a word.” He probably could have softened his tone, but his mind was elsewhere.

            Her head snapped up at his curt intrusion into her office. “Yes, Knight Captain?” She had taken to calling him by his full title, studiously preserving a thick mask of calm formality in the face of the aloofness he had adopted with her. It was maddening, and he wanted dearly to do something that would crack the façade. Even during their evening training sessions her expression remained coldly determined, and he missed the wild laughter and breathless grins. Each time she refused his hand when he’d knocked her on her back, he’d knock her down with more force, hoping for a reaction other than passive disappointment. It didn’t matter to him that it was his own distant behavior that had brought about the change in her. He wanted to see her lively and vivacious again, not this thin sham of a person. He _liked_ her, liked her company, liked her snark and smiles. He wanted it back, wanted _her_ back. He pondered ways he could get a rise out of her, but his better judgment won over, and he pushed his irritation aside. “Knight Captain?”

            He realized he’d been silent too long, stewing in his frustrations. He cleared his throat and set the heavily embossed letter from Val Royeaux in front of her. “This came today.” Eve picked it up.

            Her eyes flicked to him and back down to the page she held. His eyes followed hers as they traversed the letter. “I am not sure what you expect from me, Knight Captain.” She was wary as she handed the letter back to him.

            “The Circles are voting for independence, surely you see the trouble this presents in Kirkwall.”

            “I see a host of troubles, but I’m not sure which you deem worst.”

            “For now the peace in this Circle is my concern.”

            “Then I suggest you speak to your men, Knight Captain, and I shall speak to mine.”

 

o.O.o

 

            If anything, the news had only made the Circle more peaceful, or rather quiet. True peace had fled the Gallows years ago. Eve and the Captain had broken the news to their respective peoples, each emphasizing with uncompromising iron in their voices the consequences to be faced if peace was broken. It was an edgy, uncertain thing, but so far it had held. No mage or Templar walked the Gallows alone. There were too many whispers behind the backs of hands, too much speculation about what would happen.

            “What _will_ happen?” Eve had opted to spend her evening training bout with Roland instead of the Knight Captain. He would no doubt be miffed that she’d absconded from his guardianship this evening, but he’d be unlikely to find the pair of them on the roof of one of the abandoned sections of the Gallows. She shrugged internally. He could find her in the morning.

            “In the unlikely event that such a vote will even matter, we’ll stay here. Like it or not we all need supervision during our training.” _Assuming it will be safe to stay,_ was the unspoken caveat.

            “But you would never fall to a demon. You’re not even dangerous! And someday I’ll be like that too. And we have Sam!” He looked down before adding quietly, “Why don’t we deserve freedom?”

            A solid _thwack_ to his midsection and Roland sat down hard against the stone. “Not even dangerous?” Eve pretended to be affronted.

            “You know what I mean,” he griped, pushing himself up with the aid of his practice blades.

            “Don’t do that. You’ll blunt a real sword.”

            “Yes’m.” He took up a guard stance again.

            “Try it with fire this time.” A thin, hot line of flame made its way down the edges of the practice swords. It was getting stronger each time he cast. Eve nodded her approval. Her apprentice learned quickly, both in theory and application. At first, when they’d been gifted, she’d feared for his control at such a young age, but he’d taken the responsibility seriously. But his idealism battled with the realities of their world. “But are all of us like you and I?”

            “No, but –”

            “And would you trust any man on the road who carried a sword?” His mouth had opened farther to speak over her interruption, but snapped shut at her question.

            “No.” He was dangerously close to pouting, as was usual when faced with unwanted truth.

“And what about if the man’s sword could kill a whole village with a single swing?”

“But why can’t it be like in Ferelden?” _There you go, lad._

            “Don’t see why it can’t,” she smiled, “Now if you can land a hit in the next ten swings I’ll let you have an extra cake after dinner tomorrow.”

            “How about if you aren’t sitting on your ass after three swings, I let you out of your office tomorrow.” The testy voice belonged to Sam, who was approaching them from the edge of the roof.

            Roland’s swords dropped as he mouthed a dramatic ‘uh oh’ to Eve. Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Eve turned, “We are hardly in any danger or trouble up here.”

            “Captain Cullen feels otherwise. He missed you this evening.” She snorted. The Knight Captain was probably happy for the respite, Maker take the man. “Eve.”

            “Sam.”

            “Eve.” A small, amused cough emanated from Roland’s direction, and it occurred to her that she was setting a bad example for her apprentice. But needling her brother provided an outlet for the weight of her day.

            “Sam.”

            “Eve!” The sudden urgency in his voice had her swinging around and reaching instinctively for Roland. She batted him absently behind her as she found the source of her brother’s alarm. _Sweet Maker, how the_ hell _had they gotten in here?_

            “Roland, go with Sam.”

            “Eve –”

            She whirled back to face Sam. “No! This is not up for negotiation. Sam, find the apprentices first, and then the rest. I will find the Captain and the rest. Now, _go._ ”


	13. Chapter 13

            _Shit shit Maker damn them all to hell shit shit fucking shit!_ Eve could see them below, demons and darkspawn. The entrance courtyard was teaming with them, and she was barely able to stem the panic that rose as she realized that there were too many, far too many. The few men and women who had been on guard there would be lost. There may have been no love lost between them and her, but she whispered a quick prayer to the Maker for their souls. Perhaps if Kirkwall had had the manpower before the fall of its Circle there would have been enough, but now there were not. At this point the best option they had was to try to get to the ferry and blow the whole place to smithereens from a safe distance, but even that hope was faint, Eve thought, as she gazed across the courtyard at the multitude of monstrosities between them and safety.

            Luckily, she’d been on the roof to begin with, and her swords were already drawn. With a few jumps and a whisper she was across the compound and through a window into the main building where a semi-organized chaos greeted her. The officers were yelling and forming ranks whilst the mages threw every heavy object possible in front of the great doors. It would not hold for long. A small flood of relief swept through her when she saw the Captain at the front of his men. _Damn man._ She admired and was annoyed that he hadn’t taken advantage of his rank and directed from the back.

            “Captain!”

            He spared her a quick glance over his shoulder, but a booming shudder rocking the door redirected his attention. She streaked through the hall to the front of the Templar ranks.

            “Captain, there are at least three hundred demons and darkspawn out there, and more than one mage who summoned them. We _can’t_ fight them.”

            The set of his jaw was tight and grim. “We don’t have a choice, Enchanter. The only way out is through that door.”

            “Then we go out the back, into the sea.”

            “There are rocks under those windows. You wouldn’t survive the jump.”

            “There must be enough rope somewhere, or something we can tie together to climb down.”

            He considered it a moment.

            “Look, we’ll never make it out alive if we don’t try. There are few enough of us that we can go quickly, and once we are at the bottom, the mages can make sheets of ice to escape the island. Once we are away, we can alert the guard and have ships brought to destroy the place.”

            “Fine.” He turned to the men behind him. “Ricks! Coren! Find rope and take everyone out through the bottom windows of the Eastern tower!” His men were only too quick to obey.

            “Go, Enchanter.”

            “While you do what?” Eve raised a hand, a massive barrier blooming outwards in front of her, caging in the doors and the debris that was holding them. “I’m far more use here than you are, Captain.” The light bravado in her voice was entirely show, but fear got you killed, and a smile kept you calm. Those had been Sam’s words.

            “How long can you hold it?”

            “A few minutes.” Another forceful thump jolted the door. _Maybe fewer._

            His lips thinned in concern. He’d noticed her flinch as she pushed back against the rising tide. “When I say run, do it.”

            “Yes, Ser.” The smile was pure force of will at this point. The minutes ticked by slowly, and Eve could feel herself losing energy. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a lyrium potion on you?” Her forehead was moist with sweat at the effort of wringing every last drop of power from her body.

            “No.”

            A full fifteen minutes had gone by when her well ran dry. This time the push that came from the other side almost broke through, staggering her as she shoved weakly back.

            A gloved hand closed over her wrist. “That’s it. Run.”

            With one last desperate outward surge of power, she threw a glyph into the floor to hinder whatever followed.

            “Enchanter!”

            They ran, or rather the Captain ran. She stumbled behind him, half pulled, her body already flagging from the earlier exertion. There was a not-so-distant explosion as the doors caved in, her glyph catching whatever vile creatures that had pressed through first. She hoped it would buy them enough time.

            Both of them were breathing heavily after their sprint to the tower. The Captain as red-faced and perspiring, and Eve threw him a pitying glance. She didn’t know someone could run so fast in heavy plate.

            “Go.” He leaned his hands on his knees, catching his breath, and waved her ahead of him towards the two thick ropes draped over the windowsill.

            Eve took one rope, hauling herself up. It looked as if most everyone had made it down. One group was already pushing out from the shore on a frozen sheet of ice. _Where’s…_ They weren’t there. _No._

            “What in the Makers name are you _doing_?!” But she was already sprinting back down the hall, her earlier fatigue wiped away by a mix of adrenaline and panic. They’d have gone down through the barracks first. At least it was farther away from the horde. Perhaps Sam had just judged it too dangerous, and she’d find them hiding. Maybe still on the roof. But they weren’t in the barracks, and she couldn’t see them from the roof.

            “Enchanter!” She’d been too busy yelling for her brother and apprentice to slow down and answer him. He’d only have tried to drag her back to the tower anyways, and she didn’t have time for that. “ _Eve!_ ”

            He’d never called her by her name before, and it startled her into stillness. She was looking back at him as he caught up with her, and was startled when a jagged, black-tipped arrow whistled past her, missing by inches.

            “What in the Maker’s flames is wrong with you?” He barreled into her, pulling her down behind the low wall that bordered the roof. His voice turned to an angry whisper. “Stop yelling. They know we’re here.” She didn’t care if the demons knew. She cared if her brother knew.

            “I have to find them.” She glared, eyes wide, daring him to forbid her.

            She cared about the demons and darkspawn a moment later when a volley of black arrows rained over their heads. The Captain’s shield barely made it over their heads in time as they scrabbled inwards, both of them making themselves as small as possible under its cover. “Well, it’s not going to matter once we’re dead,” he hissed.

            She didn’t have time to retort. The rock wall blew inward, knocking them apart. Now, as she groggily scrambled for safety, dust filling her mouth and ears ringing, as she sought another section of wall, she did envy his armor. A shadow slipped over her.

            “Are you hurt?” Nervous concern had replaced anger.

            She spit dust from her mouth. “Yes, I think so.” She ran her fingers gingerly over her face and torso just to be sure, then turned to look up at him. His shoulder plate had a nasty gouge, but other than that, a bleeding nose, and some other dents and scrapes, he appeared in acceptable condition.

            “We’ve got to get out of here.” Easier said than done.

            She shut her eyes, weighing the very limited options in front her of her. They were pinned down. The rubble on the lower floors would make a direct route impossible, but it also hindered the path of their attackers upwards through the building. But there was nothing preventing them from climbing directly up the walls. She didn’t risk peering over the edge, but the clang of metal against stone below suggested they were trying. She and the Captain, however, were effectively trapped. She had no magic to jump to another roof top, and even if she could, it would leave them vulnerable. And the door downwards was across the roof, and trying to get their without being plugged full of arrows was nigh impossible. _Shit._

_-“Please,” he begged, “you have to.”-_

 

The memory of Roland’s frightened voice floated back to her. She’d been here before. The last time had been with a terrified, tearful boy, helpless against a similar horde. She’d taken the risk out of a sheer desperation and need to protect him. But now she crouched, huddled close under a shield with a man she wanted to just as desperately to protect.

            _It’s that or death._ It might be death anyways once this was over.

“Drain me.”

            His brow contracted in surprise, disbelief evident in his face. “What? You already have nothing. How could that possibly help?”

            “I’ve an idea. Don’t ask me to explain it; it would take too long.” She wrung her hands in front of her. Another hail of arrows scattered over them. They were running out of time. “Just drain me, with all you have, and don’t stop until I say or we both die.”

            He eyed her warily. _Please, let me save us… you._ Of course it sounded crazy, but she needed him ignore that and do as she was asking. It was a lot to ask.

            “Please, I’m not mad, I swear. But I just… I don’t know another way,” she poured every ounce of sincerity and urgency her tired body could muster into the plea. She prayed.

            But a moment later a wave of power slammed into her, trying to suck away something that wasn’t there. She collapsed to her knees, feeling like she’d been sucker-punched in the gut by a giant. _Shit, he’s strong._ The man didn’t get to be Knight Captain for nothing. The force of his smite ground into her, crushing the breath from her lungs and sending her stomach into a roiling, cramped knot. It was definitely stronger than when Sam did it, almost too strong. Perhaps she should have asked him to go easier on her at first. The pain was becoming overwhelming, and if she couldn’t concentrate this would all be for naught.

She dropped farther, her hands out in front of her barely keeping herself from sprawling over the paving stones. She reached blindly, grasping.

            _Ah, there._

 

o.O.o

 

            There was no way this was a good idea, but her earnest determination and their desperate situation convinced him to give in. As she fell to the ground, he wondered wildly why he’d gone along with this, how this could possibly fix anything.

Just as he was about to stop, she stirred, pushing herself slowly, shakily onto her feet. But as she rose, so too did the alarming realization that she was not drained. He’d smote her, was still smiting her, but instead of emptiness, energy surged up from within her.

Before, her magic had been tightly controlled, barely visible to his senses. Now it was a growing, pulsing storm, rising up and screaming for release. Power practically dripped from her, and as she took an unsteady, shaking step it flowed over, spilling and swirling around her.

His automatic impulse was to smite her, but he was already doing it, and the realization that this was what kept the raging storm in check was terrifying to him. She closed her eyes, and her stance steadied, breath slowing.

Her hand came up between them, and he stepped backwards, tensing. She dropped her arm a fraction in hesitation, and then let it fall to her side.

            “How are you doing this?”

            A mirthless smile turned up her lips. “Barely. You mustn’t stop,” she cautioned again. Eve sounded as if she were in pain. And with that the air between them thickened and blurred as thick, waving ripples of light materialized around him. She’d not moved nor spoken a spell, but the barrier she’d raised around him was more solid than any he’d seen.

She turned and pulled herself up onto the low wall of the barracks’ roof. Then she stepped off the edge.

She fell too slowly, as if stepping down a stair rather than jumping from an eighty foot height. The creatures below had taken renewed notice and swarmed towards her. But, he realized, as they closed in on her, it was no longer a swarm. They were being pulled towards her, dragged and crushed into the ground as they went. The paving stones cracked and slid under the force.

Those nearest tried in vain to attack, but it was fruitless. Blades cracked and broke. Fire and ice washed uselessly over the shield she’d erected around herself.

            She walked towards the gates, away from the buildings, dragging the struggling horde with her. When she reached them, another barrier spread, enveloping both the Enchanter and the creatures surrounding her.

Then the storm broke free. Within the confines of the barrier a swirling, frenzied hurricane of fire and ice raged, shredding and burning all caught inside. All within the bubble of the storm became obscured as rock was ripped from the earth to join the elements raging with in. The site churned his stomach. Chunks of earth and bodies were caught up in the whirlwind inside, immolated by fire or broken as they crashed into the sides of the barrier that contained it all.

            When it was done and the glistening of the barrier was no more, an oily blackened pile of rubble and thickly red icy slurry was all that remained.

The First Enchanter carefully picked her way around the ruin, and with an impossible jump, landed delicately beside him on the rooftop.

The power around her was diminished, but remained in a thick, roiling cloud. Slowly, he sensed it misting outward, trickling through the Gallows.

            Abruptly, it evaporated into nothing, and she was collapsing at his feet again, doubled over in pain.

            “Stop!” she choked. He quickly complied. She was drained again.

            “Enchanter…” he wasn’t sure what to ask, and settled for holding out his hand to help her up.

            “They’re in the basement of the library.”

            “Let’s go.”

 

o.O.o

 

            Oh, he must be furious. She steeled herself for the confrontation she was certain was coming. Whatever he had to say had had to wait. Once they’d found Sam and Roland, they made a sweep of the rest of the Gallows. There were only a few stragglers from the horde and no sign of those who had summoned them. Once the other residents of the Gallows had been rounded up and returned, she’d escaped to her office. There was no way they could stay after this. She only hoped he’d let her go back to Ferelden.

            Eve wondered if that was possible at this point. Even another mage would fear what she held. She shook her head, and set herself to the task at hand – packing.

            Sure enough, it wasn’t long before she heard the crisp click of metallic feet. The door to her office slammed open so forcefully Eve wondered if he’d expected it to be barred against him. His hand was on the pommel of his sword. She let her eyes close briefly, collecting her wits. _At least it’s not in his hand._ He stepped forward, and she blanched, stepping away.

            “Explain.”

            She schooled her voice into a conversational tone. “You know, I’ve been harrowed twenty-seven times.” Nothing said ‘not a danger’ like that did.

            That brought him up short. _Good_ , at least he was less likely to interrupt or take any rash action.

            “As you know, there are nine varieties of demons. I’ve been harrowed three times for each type.” She turned to pick up a book, dusting it off and depositing it in a trunk. She spoke calmly, as if explaining a mundane concept to a class of apprentices. “The tenth time was a bit tricky. After the first nine, my master made them surprises. He’d do it in my sleep or drug my meals at random.” She turned towards him for the next part, the important part, and met his eyes. “I passed _every_ single one.”

            “Why would he do that to you?”

            “He…I’m still not sure what it is.” It was true. Someday she’d find out though. “One day he asked me into his office to eat dinner before our lesson. I knew there was something in the wine; it tingled when I drank it. I thought it would be part of his lesson, but instead he just…died, slumped over the table dead.” For now, she left out the fact that Roland had been with her, that she’d spilled the wine all over him as she scrambled frantically to Darion’s side. “It’s like a waking door into the fade. But it’s a door that slams open and is too hard to close. Everything just comes spilling out.

            “And you can’t control it.”

            “Not without help, no.” She looked away. “The first time it happened I nearly died. I would have if Sam hadn’t been there to help me close the door.”

            “When you came to Kirkwall…”

            “Yes then too. And for that I should have died.”

            “I received a letter yesterday.” The abrupt change of subject startled her. “From the White Spire. The mages have voted in favor of independence.”

            Her mouth worked trying to find the words. “I didn’t know.” _You didn’t say._ She climbed the lower rungs of the shelf’s ladder, searching for another book.

            “The Circles are dissolving. Mages are leaving, many by force. The Divine has authorized the formation of an Inquisition.”

            One hand braced on the shelf as she swung around to face him, fire in her eyes. “Are you finally afraid of me then? Is that it? You think I’ll do what that mage did, and try to level the city in an act of rebellion?”

            “No.” He let out a breath. His expression looked pained, and he kneaded the back of his neck, as if trying to will his world back to order and sanity.

            “Hah! Well, everyone else will be when they find out.” Her voice was sharp, bitter. “You know the funny part? I can’t even hurt them with it, not unless I want to risk killing myself as well.”

            His jaw clenched and unclenched as he stared back. “Then why did you do it?”

            “Maker, you really are thick.” He had only a moment to stare at her in puzzlement before she’d taken hold of his collar and was yanking him forward, her lips crashing against his.

            She’d tried not to overthink it, lest her better judgment prevail. He was the Knight Captain for Maker’s sake. His shock lasted a moment too long for comfort, and for an instant Eve was afraid she’d made a terrible mistake. But next thing she knew she was pressed forcefully against the ladder, his arms wrapped around her, crushing her to him as he kissed her back with equal fervor.

            The feel of his lips moving over her own, of his tongue pushing insistently into her mouth was an aching relief. His hands traveled down her sides, fingers digging into her hips as he pulled her tighter against him. In that moment she rather felt armor to be a ridiculous invention. It briefly occurred to her that she’d never seen him without it. He probably looked rather fetching under all – A breathy moan escaped her when his mouth left hers to explore her neck, gently sucking and biting at the sensitive skin just beneath her jaw. His grip on her hips tightened convulsively at the sound, and he sucked in a breath, bringing one hand up to tangle in her hair, pulling her head back. _How did a Chantry boy become so good at that?_

            “Well, well, would you look at that. Looks like all those rumors were true, eh boys?”

            _Fuck._


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many quick updates! Be proud, guys! Actually, I'm just really damn excited.

            He couldn’t think. His mind froze trying to process fifteen scattering thoughts at once. _Maker, you’re thick._ That was uncalled for, but then she was kissing him, and the thick haze of anger shifted to confusion. _What?_ And _Maker’s breath she smells like home during Satinalia, oranges and cloves_ , his mother’s favorite during that season. _Stop thinking about your mother, you imbecile._ But what did this have to do with… _Oh_ …She’d exposed herself to him, her power and her weakness, to save him, then again by kissing him. He towered over her, surrounding her in his embrace, and she was pliant in his hands, arching into him with each surge of his lips against hers. She’d put herself in his power, metaphorically and physically, and the thought was a powerful aphrodisiac.

            The feel of her in his arms, lithe and wanting, surpassed every fantasy that he’d guiltily entertained of this moment. However, in his fantasies he’d been the one to seduce her, not the other way round. But the fiercely determined way she’d gripped his collar and pulled him down to meet her was electrifying. Then, when he’d finally caught up with what was happening and kissed her back, she relaxed, her fingers finding their way from his collar to twine into his hair, one hand smoothing forward along his jaw and neck as she melted further into him. It was unexpectedly tender, and he felt a tug in his chest he hadn’t realized was possible.

            Her lips were soft, just like the rest of her, everything he’d denied himself for so long. He nearly groaned when her mouth opened under his as he deepened their kiss. Everything about the way she kissed him, touched him, was hot and sweet, and the eager intensity with which she moved against him sent molten fire pouring into his gut.

            Soon his pants had grown tight, and maybe thank the Maker for armor after all because it had been far too long since he’d had a woman in his arms. And as he took in the sight of her, the plunging shirt that had been tugged lower by the friction between their bodies, the way her breasts heaved with each sigh and ragged breath, her lips swollen from passion, he wanted nothing more than to lay her down on the closest surface and have her then and there.

            Instead he closed his mouth over her neck in a heated, open-mouthed kiss, _and please, Maker, make that sound again._ And no, the armor and clothes between them were awful, and so was whoever was talking – _shit._

            He jumped back, looking quickly between Eve and the intruders. The naked fear streaked across her face shocked him out of his lust-induced haze. Four of his officers had pushed through the doorway of the First Enchanter’s study. _Oh Maker, what have I done._ His hackles rose as he noticed the predatory, gloating sneers aimed her way.

            “Tempting one of the Order away from his duty is a crime, mage.”

            _Oh no._ In his moment of passion, the feeling of power that he held over her, that she’d willingly given him that power – given herself – had spurred his lust. Now, as the ramifications of taking that power became clearer, it filled him with shame. He was her guardian, and now after the vote, no doubt her jailor. It was her who would be forced to bear the worst consequences of his moment of weakness. Sure, she’d kissed him, and he certainly wanted her, but it was his duty to protect her, not take advantage.

            “Were you hoping the Captain would let you go if you just spread your legs?”

            “That vote meant nothing, and it doesn’t matter if you spread your legs for all of us; in Kirkwall mages belong in the Gallows.” Cullen’s brow rose involuntarily. He’d just received word of the vote’s outcome; none of them should know that. Void take them all, he was their Captain. Shame was forgotten, and anger took over with the realization his private office had been violated.

            “But once you’re tranquil you’ll do it anytime we like.”

            There was a meaty crunch as his gauntlet connected with the side of a face. What followed was a brief, bloody scuffle that ended with Cullen on his knees being held about the arms and neck by three men and Eve with a sword at her ribs. He noted with grim satisfaction that he’d given better than he’d gotten. He heaved his shoulders, attempting to throw them off, but his struggle was in vain. Eve merely remained frozen, impassive.

            “Good, throw them in the dungeons.” All eyes jerked to the door.

            Eve made to step towards him, but the sharp point of the sword at her chest kept her in place. She spared the man holding it an acid glance before refocusing on her brother. “Sam.”

            “I hope you’re not thinking I’ll protect you after this, Sister. I warned you.” His words dripped with spiteful venom. “In fact,” he pulled a seal-adorned envelope from his sash, “Soon the Seekers will be here to judge you.”

            Her face returned to frozen stone, and the men holding him whispered questions to each other. It seemed that this was one piece of news they hadn’t heard; for that matter, neither had he.

            Her brother continued with a smile that held no warmth. “I’m sure they’ll wish to question you. They’ll want to know just how many of our order you’ve corrupted with your whoring.” Here, there was more muttering from those behind him. “I hope you enjoy your time in the dungeons. After the Seekers come, I’m sure you won’t have the capacity to enjoy much of anything after that.” His smile widened, all teeth and malice as he turned his attention to Cullen. “There was no mention of you in the letter, but I’m sure you’ll find a cell very comfortable. I’m sure everyone here agrees you’ve earned it.”

 

o.O.o

 

            _Oh Sam, you clever bastard._   They’d been thrown unceremoniously into separate cells to ‘await the Seekers,’ but a scant ten minutes had passed before she heard hasty footsteps hurrying back down the hall.

            “Eve!” It was a loud whisper.

            “Down here!” She stuck her hand through the bars and waved.

            “Oh thank the Maker! They didn’t touch you, did they?”

            “No, that line about the Seekers wanting to know which Templars I’ve whored with was perfect.”

            “Good, not that I don’t want a good excuse to bash their skulls in, but not because of that.”

            “I think the Captain already did the job for you really.” Sam looked around to find the Captain unconscious on the floor of his cell. “He’s alive,” Eve assured him as she saw the looked of worry on her brother’s face. “They gave him a good knock as they threw him in, but he’ll be fine.”

            “Can you tell when he’ll wake up? The faster we leave here the better.”

            “I don’t know, but Sam, how in the Void do you plan to get out of here? They weren’t lying about the vote. They will be extra vigilant for any escape attempts.”

            “I don’t know yet, but Eve, we _have_ to go.” He dropped his eyes, reluctant to continue. “Evie, they’ve started annulling some of the Circles.”

            Her mind stuttered to a stop, momentarily rendered immobile by fear. “Take Roland and run. Tell Bethany…tell them all, and…shit.” Eve swiped a hand across her face. She felt helpless. Recent irresponsible decisions notwithstanding, she was the First Enchanter and had been charged with the protection and leadership of the mages here. And now she was in a cell.

            “I could get Roland out, but I don’t know how I’d get sixteen of us out without being caught.”

            As much as she wanted to protect her apprentice, to tell Sam to take just him and make a run for it, she could not in good conscience ask him to abandon the rest. Void take the whole damned Chantry for this.

            “Can you –?” He began.

            “No, I can’t, I already used it to get rid of the demons from earlier. I wouldn’t be able to control it now.”

            He looked at her with shock-widened eyes. “How –? Were you able to control it by yourself?”

            “No…I…” Oh, he wouldn’t be pleased. She cleared her throat and trudged forward. “I asked the Captain to help me with it.”

            “The Captain.”

            “Yes.”

            “Another _Templar._ ”

            “…Yes.”

            “Dammit, Evie.” He rubbed at his eyes, opened his mouth, thought the better of it, and went back to rubbing his eyes.

            “Well, he helped.” It came out as a petulant mumble. She was looking at the ground, feeling for all the world like an errant child who’d just let slip a scandalous family secret to the local gossip-monger.

            Her brother gave a long-suffering sigh. “We’ll discuss this after we escape, but for now we need a plan.”

            “What about drugging everyone?”

            “I can ask Bethany. She must have enough herbs to put an army to sleep.”

            “It’ll have to be at dinner. The herbs she’d use usually lose their potency if they’re cooked into something, and wine is really the only thing that would cover the taste anyways.”

            “Supper’s not for another couple of hours, I’m sure we can come up with something during that time.”

            “Good,” she nodded grimly. “But Sam?”

            “Hmm?”

            She stepped closer to the bars, “If this goes badly, take Roland and whoever else and just go.”

            A short bark of laughter escaped him. “No, Evie.”

            “Sam,” she was putting on her ‘mother’ face, the reasonable face that brooked no argument, “you know I’m capable of getting myself out if I have to.”

            “I know I’m not abandoning you, so stop asking.” He turned to go. “I’ll see you tonight.”

 

o.O.o

 

            Captain Cullen stirred a short time later, as the sun had begun to fade. Eve rose from her place on the floor to stand at the bars.

            “Captain?” she called softly. She tried again when there was no response. Eventually a low groan emanated from the heap of metal-encased man, and he sluggishly turned his head to look at her, taking a moment to focus.

            “Enchanter. Are…are you alright?”

            She smiled, relieved. A sharp lance of fear had pierced her when he’d taken the blow, and in that moment she’d wished for enough magic to bring low the man who’d delivered it. “Yes, I’m fine, Captain.” She vacillated between using his given name and his title. She wanted to say his name, but a sudden shyness bade her wait for explicit permission.

            “Good…good.” He was looking at her in a way that made her stomach increasingly tense.” Her relieved smile had not been returned; there was only anxious trepidation. “Enchanter, I would like to apologize.”

            Her heart sank. “Apologize?” She tried for lightness, as if she were confused on the matter. But when he looked away from her, she knew she’d not quite succeeded.

            “Yes, I…it was a mistake…I should not have…” He blinked and tried again. “My duty is your protection, and I have betrayed that by taking advantage…” She heartily wished they were not confined so closely together, that she could escape his fumbling rejection of her. If only she had enough magic left to melt into the ground. “Please know that I regret abusing my position and –” He waved his hand awkwardly around the cell, “bringing this upon us. I hope that you may forgive me.” The last was said quietly and without hope.

            She swallowed, carefully schooling her features into a bland, indifferent expression. “There’s nothing to forgive, Captain.”

            Past experience had already told her restraining her emotions for too long and too forcefully would simply backfire, and she would be damned if he would see any of it. She waited a suitable length of time before casually turning to the window of her small cell. Once she was facing away from him and sure he wouldn’t see, she released the silent tears of frustration and shame. A mistake, a regret. That was all. She momentarily pinched her eyes closed at the anguish the thought brought her. A few seconds later they unclenched, and she stood motionless as the tears dripped down her face, head tilted back so that her nose would not run.

            As her tears were drying to salt-crusted tracks, she heard the approach of heavy boots, but it was too early for it to be Sam, and as they neared, she realized there were also too many.

            It was the same men who’d caught them. Instead of her, they went this time directly for the Knight Captain, stripping him out of his armor until all he had left of his modesty was a pair of leather breeches. Then they were unlocking her cell, and for a tense second she was afraid they would give her the same treatment, but instead they merely hauled the both of them from the dungeon.

            She didn’t bother asking where they were being taken; it didn’t matter. Nor did she wish to converse with their captors, and she’d find out quickly enough.

            It turned out to be no farther than the courtyard. A solid, heavy-looking block of wood had been placed in the center, a set of shackles protruding from a looped iron stake. Eve was held some paces back as Cullen was led to the block and chained.

            One of the men with a freshly pink scar along the side of his face, whom Eve recognized as the officer whose jaw Cullen had broken earlier, stepped forward. A whip dangled from one hand.

            “Maybe after this you won’t be so quick to put some whore mage before your brothers.” The first blow came from a gauntleted fist across his face rather than the whip. Eve winced as the Captain’s head was knocked sideways in a spray of blood. When he was able to raise it again, she saw a bloody gash opening his lip; he’d also lost several teeth. Eve concentrated hard on a point of air between them, retreating mentally to a place of distance.

            But when she met his eyes again, the distance evaporated. The helpless rage in his expression stung her. While they were all under the mistaken impression that the Seekers would wish to interrogate her, the Captain had no such protection. She had little doubt how they intended the evening to end.

            She might be no more than a regret, but he was a decent man who had tried to defend her from those who had meant her harm. She owed him no less.

            The first lash whipped across the skin of his back, and his eyes widened with the surprise of pain, mouth opening in a soundless gasp. Her stomach rolled sickeningly at the cheer and calls for more that followed.

            She glanced surreptitiously at her captors who stood morbidly riveted by the spectacle of torture before them. She closed her eyes, squeezing forth a few token tears – it was not difficult – and gave a tiny shudder to draw their attention. The man holding her nudged his comrade, and together they jeered at her helpless sorrow, before dismissing her as just that and turning back to the sight of the Captain’s raw, bloody back. Once she was confident of her dismissal as tearful and a non-threat, she gave a small sob, feigning a swoon.

            She heard an annoyed voice from above. “Oh, bloody Maker, get her up.”

            The shit-for-brains-sot who bent to follow the order hadn’t expected her to pull his own sword from its sheath and run him through the neck with it. But she did.


	15. Ships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for grammar errors and typos and for the time it took me to get this up.

            It was excruciating, and fighting to stay each cry of pain was nearly impossible with each lash, but he’d endured worse. He reminded himself of that over and over. Demons had done their best to break him and failed. He could withstand the tortures of mere men. The traitorous, honorless, worthless shits would not win. Even when his skin broke, blood seeping down his back, he stayed his voice. He hated them in that moment, but held onto that small comfort of knowing they couldn’t break him the way he’d been almost broken before. They could kill him, but they couldn’t have him.

            But then he looked up to find her staring back at him. The only man who would have wiped the tears from her face was shackled to a wooden block. He didn’t know what would become of her, and it was just one more regret that he may not be able to protect her in the days to come.

            Suddenly, faster than he could blink, a sword was in her hand. The next moment she was rolling away from the fountain of blood, and the man who had been standing over her now lay on the ground, his neck weakly spurting red. Another went down as the tendons in the back of his legs came apart with a neat slice. A scream sounded just before another swift sweep of her hand brought his own knife across his throat.

            By this time she’d caught the attention of the man wielding the whip. He quickly forgot about Cullen, and drawing his sword, advanced on Eve. Cullen’s stomach dropped like a stone. She stood in thin linen clothes with a sword and dagger against a man with a solid shield in full plate. Grim determination colored with rage painted her face. He wanted to scream for her to run, but the fear of inevitability silenced him.

            He sneered, “How do you think this ends, mage? You think you can save him from what he rightly deserves?”

            She stood silent, waiting for him to strike the first blow. Instead, another idea appeared to strike him. With a sadistic smirk at Eve he turned back to Cullen.

            “All he’ll remember is how you failed.” And with that he took a quick back step, raising his sword over Cullen’s neck.

            For a spit second, Cullen’s hands jerked involuntarily into fists, his heart spasming around a jolt of adrenaline as his mind struggled to process what was about to happen. His eyes gripped shut, a distant part of him hoping that this, at least, would not hurt.

            The blow never came. Instead a tiny _thwack_ he almost didn’t hear through the blood in his ears was followed by the much louder sound of an armored man falling in a heap at his side.

            He opened his eyes as the adrenaline faded, leaving a shaking weakness behind. Eve looked just as confused as he did, head snapping wildly around after the source of their rescue.

            “Sam!” Her eyes were wide, half hysterical in relief.

            Soon enough brother and sister were embracing; the Lieutenant’s hand curled around her back still gripping a bow. Stepping back, Sam inspected his sister, holding her shoulders steady. Once satisfied with her physical wellness, he paid mind to the scene around him.

            “Shit, Evie.” He hugged her too him again. Then in a whisper, mostly to himself, “Looks like I was right when I said you’d need to learn to stab people.”

            She nodded into his shoulder, jaw clenched. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling he was intruding upon a private family moment. But the chains binding him to the block shifted with him, clanging gently against the wood.

            The Lieutenant glanced back as if just remembering the man whose life he’d saved only moments ago, and hastily set to searching the fallen men around him for a key.

            Once he’d been freed, Eve knelt before him. Whatever emotion had shown on her face at their rescue had been carefully tucked away, leaving a blank, impassive mask behind.

            “We have to leave. I’m going to heal you now.” Her voice was just as blank. His chest twinged, hollowing at the thought that this was the only part of her he would see from now on. Then her eyes fell closed, and her already still countenance became as that of a statue. When she’d healed him all those months ago in the dirt of a Low Town alley, she’d been injured herself, and had little time to spare for comfort. This was nothing like that. At first he hadn’t even noticed she’d done anything until he felt the feathering brush of her magic and realized he was no longer in pain. From then, if he concentrated on the feeling, he noticed small eddies of warmth and coolness hovering just under his skin, closing his wounds and soothing away the rawness and welts.

            Once his back had been repaired, she opened her eyes, concentrating on the gash that split along his upper lip. Her face scrunched slightly. “I will not be able to fully keep this from scarring either.” She tilted her head slightly, assessing, “But if you can find another healer with the right supplies, it may be possible.”

            He gave a quick nod as she set to work. Scars didn’t concern him; he had plenty already. Nor did he feel right having it removed when he’d brought it upon himself when he’d failed her.

            Then she was standing, and in that same toneless voice bidding him follow. “Let’s go.”

 

o.O.o

           

            They ran. They could have done no different after she and Sam killed those men. Not that she regretted it. A small part of her was terrified at the satisfaction that came with their deaths, but she’d deal with that later. There was no time for inward examination. Luckily, Sam and Bethany had been successful in their plan to drug the Templars, and now what was left of the Order in Kirkwall was passed out over their supper. After that it was a simple thing to pillage the armory and outfit their group in Templar standard issue. Those too young exchanged their robes for tunics and trousers; they would pass for squires and young initiates too young to bear the sword.

            It was decided that Ferelden would be safest. Of all the Circles, it had remained for all intents and purposes autonomous, and the independence vote was largely formality as far Kinloch was concerned. So once everyone was satisfactorily disguised – or in the cases of Sam and the Captain, dressed – they sought passage on a ship to Gwaren. The journey was long, boring, and uneventful. Even the sea dully calm. It should have been a relief, a soothing respite from the fate they’d nearly suffered. But the problem with ships was the uncomfortably close quarters, and in those quarters was the Captain. She spoke to him when necessary, which was all of twice. Fortunately, he shared her tendency towards silence and spent most of his time in prayer or in a self-imposed guard duty.

            It was with genuine, heartfelt relief that she led the small group off the ship, and praise Bethany for having the presence of mind to find the Templars’ gold before fleeing. The journey from Gwaren to Kinloch Hold would have been far longer and more uncomfortable without horses and wagons. She almost laughed to herself when she thought of how she’d wanted to blast her wagon to kindling so long ago. Soon supplies were purchased and all was in order for the last leg of their trip.

            However, it was at this point that the Knight Captain quietly but firmly announced his decision to part ways with them. Excuses were made, but they were thin. In Kirkwall he’d steadfastly, doggedly held to his duty, even when that duty should not have been laid on his shoulders. Sam tried to talk him around, but to no avail. Eve knew what had happened at Kinloch during the Blight even if she hadn’t been there, and as Irving bid goodbye when they left for Kirkwall, he’d alluded briefly to the Captain’s presence during that time. It had been a soft warning to expect a stern, strict way of governing a Circle. She thought back to his panic at her first attempt at healing him and wondered at how much Irving hadn’t told her.

            And so in the end he was given a horse, and after divvying up what was left of their coin, Eve passed the Captain a share. She was torn between cold silence at his departure and making one last plea that he continue on with them. Any appeal to stay would be useless, and she chose to keep her pride intact.

            “Maker watch over you.” It was the third time in two weeks she’d spoken to him, but he stood silent, seemingly unable to return the blessing. _Fine then._

            But as she turned to go she found herself restrained, ever so gently, by the soft pressure of fingertips on her arm. She debated whether or not to turn back. “Eve.” Her name.

            She turned after all, despite herself. “Yes?” No ‘Captain’ or ‘Cullen’. She couldn’t bring herself to use the former, nor would she risk hope by saying the latter.

            “Come with me.” He heart skipped a beat, and she froze.

            “The others –”

            He swallowed. “The Divine, she’s called a Conclave in Haven, a village to the North of Kinloch. She wants to make peace in Thedas, wants to hold talks between mages and Templars.”

            “And do you think peace is what’s really waiting there?”

            “I don’t know what will come of it, but I think it’s our best chance, yes.” He cleared his throat, looking around uncomfortably before settling on her again. “You would be safe there.”

            He’d rejected her, but now he was asking her to come with him. Of course he meant for all of them to come, and he was a good man, and why wouldn’t he want to do his duty to keep all of them safe? It may even be their best chance to stay out of danger in this mess. Ferelden’s Circle may have been a bastion of mage freedom before, but who knew what would come looking for them now that this vote had been cast? She took a moment to consider it.

            “Eve?” At his voice, she realized she hadn’t responded. He’d stepped closer, and the enchanter resisted the urge to step back. He’d used her name again.

            “Captain, I –”

            “Cullen.”

            “What?” The interruption threw her.

            “I’m no longer a Knight Captain, just Cullen.” He took another small step forward and slowly, ever so tentatively he reached out to brush his fingers along her cheek. When she didn’t recoil from his touch, he bent so his forehead nearly touched hers and asked simply, “Please.”


End file.
